


Of Love and Honor

by Norathar



Series: After The End (Alexandra de Sardet) [3]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Constantin/Vasco is FWB only, F/M, M/M, Romance, This also became much more than a romance fic, and her character development + relationships with everyone, and over with soon, it's basically de Sardet's year in the life on the island
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 77
Words: 337,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norathar/pseuds/Norathar
Summary: Spanning from the day Alexandra de Sardet first learns she's going to be leaving for Teer Fradee until the night before the battle at Anemhaid, tracing the development of her relationship with a certain captain of the Coin Guard. A prequel to After the End and Return to Serene, and rather more romance-focused than the other two.So far there are plans for one semi-explicit chapter, which will be notated as such, with an alternate version. Updates may come a little more slowly, since the beginning and end are both done but not the middle; this originated as a "fleshing-out-the-cutscenes-and-romance-dialogues" exercise that got a lot more involved.Note: In posting the first bit, I realized that this is going to be a slow burn into the romance - the first part is more of a general fic about de Sardet and Kurt than it is later on.Note 2: This has rapidly spun out of control and is going to be a very long fic covering the entirety of de Sardet's year on the island pre-After The End. (Maybe I should've called it Before the End.)
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay/Vasco, Kurt/De Sardet (GreedFall)
Series: After The End (Alexandra de Sardet) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901524
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. A Friendly Practice

“Fight with honor!” Kurt dropped his hand, taking a step back, and watched as his two charges faced off against one another. “No magic this time, Green Blood. Let’s make it a challenge.”

Alexandra de Sardet gave him a quick nod before sidestepping her cousin’s attack. Constantin d’Orsay was armed with a rapier, which he brandished with a flourish; as de Sardet dodged his first advance, he pulled up and circled her once more, whipping the blade back and forth.

“Don’t waste time with fancy nothings, Your Highness,” Kurt told him. “That won’t impress anyone in a real fight.”

“This isn’t a real fight, is it?” Constantin rejoined. “It’s only a friendly practice. Isn’t it, cousin?” he asked, lunging again.

De Sardet sidestepped him and smiled as Constantin stumbled past. “Certainly.”

“Practice may be friendly, but poor habits make for a poor fighter,” Kurt pointed out. He watched with a critical eye as de Sardet waited for her cousin to recover, then advanced when he turned to face her once more, lifting her own weapon, a one-handed mace. Constantin raised his rapier to block, but was a hair too slow, and the force of the blow knocked him backwards. “Well done, Green Blood!”

De Sardet’s face lit up at the praise, even as Constantin rubbed at his shoulder. “I wish your improvement wouldn’t come at my expense,” he said, but the complaint was good-natured, accompanied by a smile. “Couldn’t you improve yourself by knocking over Kurt for a change?”

“She’s welcome to try,” Kurt said.

“What if we both tried?” Constantin inclined his head, his eyes bright. “Do you think you could still fend us both off at once?” Kurt had occasionally faced both his charges at once, though he’d done so far more often when they’d been much smaller; holding off a ten- and eleven-year-old simultaneously had been much easier than facing those same students with fourteen years of training. “Or have we finally surpassed you?”

Kurt laughed. “Do you want an answer to that?” He picked up his own practice weapon, a two-handed _zweihander_ , and began to move toward his pupils.

Before he could reach them, they were interrupted by a liveried servant. Kurt recognized the man immediately: he was part of the Prince d’Orsay’s household, a man often entrusted with the prince’s personal business.

“Your Highness,” the man called out, looking to Constantin. “Your father wishes to speak with you. Immediately.”

“My father? I’m surprised he’d acknowledge my existence.”

“He said it’s of the utmost importance, Your Highness.” The servant nodded to de Sardet. “He also said that he’ll speak with you afterwards, Your Highness, but that the Princess de Sardet would like to meet with you first.”

“Mother,” de Sardet breathed, a look of worry crossing her features. “Is she well?”

Kurt’s heart went out to her; de Sardet’s mother was afflicted with the malichor, dying slowly and painfully from the same disease that was ravaging so many in Serene.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Constantin told her, eager to reassure. “You saw her this morning, didn’t you?”

De Sardet nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced. “I want to go to her.” She looked at Kurt. “Is that all right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t keep you from her, Green Blood.” 

“I’m sure that everything is fine,” Constantin repeated. “You worry too much.” Carelessly, he tossed his rapier to Kurt, who caught it one-handed. “Put that back for me, will you, Kurt?” He turned. “Now, what could my father want, I wonder…?” He fixed his gaze on the servant. “I don’t suppose that you’d tell me, would you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“I should have known.” Constantin laughed. “My father shares his secrets with no one. Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.” His gaze darkened. “I hope this will be over with quickly.”

De Sardet gave her cousin a sympathetic look. “I’ll see you afterwards,” she promised.

Constantin nodded. Turning to the servant, he said, “Lead the way!”, albeit in the tone of someone who thought he was being led to his own execution.

“Would you like me to go with you, Your Highness?” Kurt asked. “If you’ll wait, it won’t take long to put your weapons away.”

“No, I’d rather get this over with. Besides, I’d rather not have any witnesses to my father’s latest lecture. He’s likely only calling me to him to tell me the latest way I’ve proved to be a disappointment. My father’s men will keep us well-guarded, in any case.”

That much was true: Augustin d’Orsay always had a full complement of Coin Guard stationed around him, the finest in the Congregation. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting,” Kurt said. Constantin and the servant moved off, leaving de Sardet and Kurt on the training ground.

“Here,” said de Sardet, coming over to the weapons rack with her mace.

“You did well today, Green Blood,” he told her as she put the weapon in its place. He put his own training weapon, an immense two-handed greatsword, on the rack next to it, then picked up his regular sword, which was of the same make but without the blunted edges of a practice weapon. “Your form is improving.”

“You should tell Constantin the same,” she said.

“I’ll tell him when he’s learned not to waste his time with those fancy movements,” Kurt replied. “If he tries that in a real fight, he’ll end up with worse than a few bruises.”

“When would he ever get into a real fight?”

“He’s fought a few duels, if I recall.”

“With noblemen who are too afraid to hurt him.” The young blades of Serene were fond of their duels, fought at dawn with rapiers over imagined insults, gambling debts, or courtesans; they weren’t generally overly serious affairs, rarely resulting in anything more than a few scratches, although occasionally something worse happened. “Constantin is the son of the Prince d’Orsay. When would he ever get into trouble?”

“You’re asking that question. Of Constantin.” Kurt gave de Sardet a skeptical look, staring at her for a long moment until neither of them could keep a straight face any longer; Kurt cracked a smile, and de Sardet laughed.

“You may have a point,” she said as they left the practice grounds, moving back into the palace. “But he doesn’t get much praise from anyone.”

“I never thought he needed it. He’s already ready to take on the world.”

“He acts it,” said de Sardet. “But his father…” Her voice trailed off. “Mother insists that he loves him, but Constantin says that he never acts like it. He said neither of his parents ever say anything nice to him, that he’s a disappointment to them both.”

“I doubt that anything I could say to him would make up for that,” Kurt said as they reached the door to the Princess de Sardet’s apartments.

De Sardet stopped. “I wonder why my uncle wants to see me,” she said. “His servant said he would speak with me after Constantin, but why? He’s hardly ever taken an interest.”

“Perhaps your mother knows,” Kurt suggested, opening the door for her.

The Princess de Sardet was inside. Jeanne de Sardet had been afflicted with the malichor for over a year, languor, paleness, and stomach pains turning into the telltale black veins of the dreaded disease. Most recently, the affliction had spread to her eyes; she was beginning to complain of problems with her vision, though she had not yet developed the characteristic white film that clouded the gaze of malichor victims. It would end in blindness, Kurt knew, but for now she was able to see well enough to find her way about the palace, if not to read.

“Alexandra,” she said, turning as she entered. Kurt could tell that her movements were painful, but she was trying to conceal her discomfort, and she hid it well enough that he thought her daughter didn’t notice.

“Mother,” said de Sardet, going to her side. “You should sit down. How are you doing? Is there anything I can get for you?”

Jeanne de Sardet waved her off. “I’m as well as can be expected.” She managed a smile. “How are you? You look as if you’ve been exerting yourself. I hope your master-at-arms hasn’t been expecting too much of you.”

“We just came from practice,” said de Sardet. “Constantin and I were sparring.”

“She did well,” Kurt offered. Jeanne de Sardet looked up at him, and he got the uncomfortable feeling that she was scrutinizing him; as a member of the Coin Guard, Kurt was far more used to being overlooked by the nobility, viewed as something akin to a piece of furniture or perhaps a stone column. Most people ignored his presence entirely, as if he didn’t exist; even the Prince d’Orsay’s servant hadn’t acknowledged him in the training yard, acting as if Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet were the only ones present.

Jeanne de Sardet was different. As she looked at him, Kurt couldn’t help but think that she was evaluating him, though he could hardly guess how or why. 

“He wouldn’t let me use magic,” said de Sardet.

Jeanne de Sardet arched an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“Green Blood is skillful enough with her spells,” said Kurt. “That isn’t where she needed the practice. She relies so heavily on those spells that I thought she should practice without them for a change. Muscle memory will still serve when focus runs dry, and some soldiers have been trained in breaking stasis spells.”

“And freezing your opponent in place is hardly honorable,” said de Sardet, with the hint of a grin. “At least, that’s what you told me the last time I put you into stasis in the middle of a fight." 

"Nothing's more honorable than blade against blade." 

"I think you're just jealous," she teased him. "If you could use magic to help protect me and Constantin, I'm sure you would. Admit it - you'd like to be able to make sparks and stop your enemies with a gesture." Playfully, she flourished her hands, and the telltale sparks of light streamed around them for a moment before flickering out. 

"You have a rare talent, Green Blood, but nothing can replace a blade in a trained hand. But magic is effective, I will give you that." 

"When you let me use it." 

"If I didn't make you use good steel, there would hardly be any point in using me as your master-at-arms, now would there? I'd have nothing to teach you about those fancy spells." 

"And I'd be much less happy if I had to spend all my time with Father Burrus." The Princess de Sardet had hired a mage from Theleme to teach her daughter everything he could about magic, but de Sardet had never taken to the priest's company. "I do enjoy our training sessions." 

"Especially when you're winning." 

"Did you?" interrupted the Princess de Sardet, leaning forward. "Win?" 

“I did." 

"Even without magic, she held her own against His Highness," Kurt said. 

"Though Constantin did well," de Sardet spoke up, eager to support her cousin. "I wish I had half his skill with a rapier." 

"Don't sell yourself short, Green Blood. If I'd made you trade weapons, you'd have fared better with that rapier than he would have with your mace. Constantin is talented, but he isn't half as diligent about practicing as you are." 

"I have always enjoyed your company." De Sardet smiled warmly. "If you weren't so hard on Constantin, perhaps he'd be more diligent." 

"I doubt it. Constantin will do what he wants." 

“Constantin,” the princess echoed. “Did Augustin send for him?”

“Yes. He said he wanted to see me once he was done,” de Sardet added. “Do you know why?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The Princess de Sardet looked to Kurt. “Captain,” she said, “would you please let me speak to my daughter privately?”

“Certainly, Your Highness.” Kurt moved toward the door.

“Wait outside until we’re done. I’d like to speak with you once I’ve had the chance to talk to Alexandra.”

That was interesting; he couldn’t remember the last time that she had done so. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Kurt went outside, closing the door; though he could hear muffled sounds of conversation coming from within, he made no effort to eavesdrop. _Green Blood will tell me what she wants me to know._ He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on; he could hardly imagine what the Princess de Sardet wanted from her daughter, or why the conversation would require a subsequent talk with the Prince d’Orsay.

 _Unless they’re looking to marry her off._ At twenty-four, Alexandra de Sardet was past the age when many noblewomen of the Congregation married. Amongst the nobility, men often sought brides when they were older, in their mid-to-late twenties, but women were often married before twenty. _Though I don’t know why d’Orsay would be calling His Highness to him, unless he thinks he’ll throw a temper tantrum when he learns that his cousin is getting parceled off to some young blue-blood he can’t stand._

Truth be told, the thought raised Kurt’s hackles as well; he was fond of his charge, and wanted to see her happy. _I can’t see her liking the idea of being bartered off to fuel one of d’Orsay’s ambitions, or to seal some political alliance._ To Kurt's knowledge, de Sardet had only ever had one romance, nearly a decade ago; after that had ended, she hadn’t sought out another; the ending of that relationship seemed to have soured her on romance, though Kurt wasn’t entirely sure of why the pair had tired of one another.

He worried for her. _She’s a lovely young woman: thoughtful, clever, with a good heart and a sharp mind. Any of those young lords should be honored that they have the chance to win her affection._ But he had to wonder if most of those young lords would see beyond the de Sardet title and fortune. _Green Blood deserves someone who loves her for herself, who will look out for her. She’s spent too much time looking out for His Highness._ Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet had been inseparable since childhood, but Kurt thought that Constantin sometimes took his cousin for granted. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening; Alexandra de Sardet emerged, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Green Blood,” he said, startling. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t want to go,” she said, then looked to Kurt. “I—”

Before she could respond, Jeanne de Sardet’s voice came through the open door. “Captain Kurt,” she called out. “A moment, if you please.”

Kurt looked helplessly at his charge; his first impulse was to try to comfort her, but he knew he could hardly disobey an order from the Princess de Sardet.

De Sardet seemed to know what he was thinking. “I’ll be fine, Kurt,” she said. “I need to go see my uncle.” She paused, then murmured, “Constantin will be so unhappy.”

 _They are going to marry her off,_ he thought, and was surprised by how upset the thought made him. _She should have a choice in the matter – and she should be thinking of herself before Constantin._

De Sardet brushed his arm as she moved past, then was gone, leaving him to move back into the Princess de Sardet’s chambers.

“Captain Kurt,” Jeanne de Sardet said, again looking him over with a sharp eye. “You’ve served in Serene for…how long is it, now? Fourteen years?”

“About that, Your Highness.” It was very nearly fifteen: Kurt had arrived in Serene at the age of nineteen, a few months away from twenty, freshly transferred into the Blue-Silver Regiment. Alexandra de Sardet had been ten; Constantin d’Orsay had just turned eleven. _His father wanted him to start his training when he turned eleven, though I don’t think he thought I was much of a birthday present._

“Alexandra is fond of you. You’re one of the few people in this palace she knows she can trust.”

Kurt said nothing, not knowing how to reply.

“I don’t believe she’s aware of precisely how trustworthy you are, Captain. I’m well aware of the assassination attempts you’ve thwarted, the attacks you’ve averted.”

“Most of those were targeting Constantin.”

“But not all of them were...and, in several cases, Alexandra would have been collateral damage to the attack on her cousin. You’ve protected her well.”

“I swore an oath. And signed a contract.”

“Is that all this duty is to you, Captain? An oath and a contract, sealed in ink and paid with gold? Or are you fond of your charges?” 

Kurt didn’t know how to respond to that. The truth was that he liked them both, though he was fonder of Alexandra de Sardet than of Constantin d’Orsay; there was often a casual arrogance to Constantin that irked him, and an occasional propensity for vengefulness that came out when he was angry. “They’re my responsibility,” he said finally. “I’m as fond of Green Blood and His Highness as I would be of any recruits I’d had a hand in training.”

“Green Blood.” A faint smile touched Jeanne de Sardet’s lips, and Kurt flushed.

“Her Highness, I mean. Lady de Sardet.”

“I’m aware of who you were referring to, Captain.” The princess looked amused. “I’m aware that you Coin Guard pride yourself on your honor. Honor, loyalty, duty: you’ve taught Alexandra all those values, and she’s taken your lessons to heart.”

“She has indeed,” Kurt agreed, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

“We in the Congregation pride ourselves on sharing many of those values, though we often focus on how they relate to one’s house. Do you have family, Captain?”

The abrupt change in subject, combined with the unexpectedly personal question, caught Kurt off-guard. “No, Your Highness.”

That seemed to surprise the princess. “None at all?”

“My parents were both officers of the Guard, and they both died in battle, but I never knew them.” He thought of Clara, the prostitute who’d raised him; mostly, he remembered soft arms, a warm smile, all the kindness no one had ever shown him once they’d taken her from him.

“You never knew your parents? Who cared for you when you were young? Surely the Coin Guard did not enlist you as an infant; there must have been someone.”

“There was a woman…my wet-nurse,” he said hesitantly, reluctant to tell her anything that personal, and wondering why she would take an interest now, of all times. “I was taken from her when I was a boy. I was very young then, and I don’t remember her well, but she’s the closest I ever knew to a mother. She loved me, and cared for me until the Coin Guard took me from her. But she’s dead now, too.” He had tried to find her again when he’d grown old enough, only to learn that she had become yet another victim of the malichor.

“Then you know what it is to be alone.”

Kurt didn’t show it outwardly, but the words cut him more deeply than Jeanne de Sardet could have known. _I am always alone,_ he wanted to tell her. _I have always been alone._ Since coming to Serene, he had precious few friendships; his duties kept him at the palace, constantly in his charges’ shadows, and the distance between a common-born soldier of the Coin Guard and a pair of nobles was so great that he couldn’t truly call them his friends. _To be friends, you must first be equals, and that’s not something a guard and his employers can ever be._

“To have never known your birth parents, to have lost your adoptive mother…you will understand,” the Princess de Sardet murmured, more to herself than to Kurt. She ran one elegant finger along the black veins that laced the back of her hand, and suddenly he understood the path of her thoughts, even if he didn’t see their ultimate destination.

 _She knows she’s dying. She’s worried about her daughter._ Alexandra de Sardet’s father had died before her birth, but her mother loved her fiercely. That was unusual for a princess of the Congregation; in fourteen years of service in the Congregation, Kurt had never seen another noble care about their child half so much as Jeanne de Sardet cared for Alexandra.

“I think so, Your Highness,” Kurt said, thinking he understood. “I…I don’t know that I’ll be much comfort, but I wouldn’t leave her.” He thought of how distraught Alexandra de Sardet had been when she’d first learned of her mother’s diagnosis: she’d tried to disappear into the streets of Serene, and when Kurt had brought her back, had tried to drown her sorrows in a bottle, weeping. He’d found her then and comforted her as best he could, feeling wholly inadequate all the while.

“Losing a comrade in battle is hard, but a loss of that sort…” He broke off, wondering if he’d said too much; no one spoke of the princess’s diagnosis in front of her, let alone of her impending death. “I don’t know that there’s anything anyone could say or do to make that easier, Your Highness.” He spread his hands slightly, a gesture of helplessness. “You can tell I don’t.”

“But if you are there…as I have said, you are one of the few people she trusts. One of the few she _can_ trust, here.”

 _As long as my contract is paid,_ Kurt almost said; it was the sort of thing he would have said in jest while sparring on the training ground with de Sardet. But something in Jeanne de Sardet’s clouded eyes stopped him: her gaze was too serious to allow for anything less than complete sincerity.

“I have my honor,” he said instead.

That brought a hint of a smile to her face. “As so many in the Congregation do not, you mean?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know precisely what you meant, Captain. I also know you are right. Too many men and women in this palace have abandoned their honor entirely. How many have attempted to bribe you to allow them to hurt Constantin or Alexandra? All of the intrigues that take place within these walls, the assassinations, the poisonings…these are hardly the actions of men who hold their honor dear, whatever they might say.”

She sighed deeply. “I only wish I could say my own honor was so entirely unblemished. I wish I could say that I kept no secrets of my own, conducted no intrigues…but what I have done, I have done to keep my daughter safe. I hope you never face a similar choice.”

Kurt stood at attention, unsure of what to say, waiting until Jeanne de Sardet went on. “I also hope that you will continue to serve my daughter well. You’ve danced around the subject, so I will say it plainly, as I said it to Alexandra: I am dying. The doctors think I may live another year; the more optimistic of them say two, perhaps three, but I know the truth. I do not wish to leave her here, adrift, alone.”

“Constantin—”

Jeanne de Sardet gave a weary smile. “Constantin, yes. I’m afraid he will be ill-equipped to help her.”

Kurt remembered Constantin’s helpless reaction at seeing the depths of his cousin’s grief when her mother had first been diagnosed with the malichor, and couldn’t help but agree. _He had no idea what to say or do. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so out of his depth._ Constantin had fled, and Kurt had been left to try to comfort her as best he could. _I was just as lost, but I couldn’t leave her there._ Constantin, at least, usually had a way with words; Kurt could never seem to say what he intended.

“Constantin cares for her, but I do not believe he is always capable of recognizing that his wishes are not her own…and I fear Alexandra often hesitates to tell him differently. They are friends, yes, and such a friendship is rare within the confines of this court, but…I wish she had others.”

The princess sighed. “I wish I could believe that Augustin would look after her in the way I would like, but I know he will always put the Congregation’s interests before her own. He has his own plans, always a thousand different plans, and all of them are concerned only with whether or not she will be of use to him, not whether or not she will be happy.”

Sadness filled Jeanne de Sardet's eyes. “Who does she have? A cousin who she has always put before herself, an uncle who would use her for his own ends, and a mercenary who has been paid to care for her. Captain, I would pay you any sum if it meant you would look after her the way I wish I could.”

“I’ll look after her,” Kurt said. “I promise.” He remembered how upset Alexandra de Sardet had looked when she’d pushed her way past him, and wondered precisely what Jeanne de Sardet had said to her daughter. _I don’t want to go, she said. Is she thinking of sending her away so she doesn’t have to watch her die?_

“All I wish is to secure the best future for my daughter that I can, with the limited time that remains to me. Which is why I am glad that you have helped teach her those same values you care about so much…particularly the importance of doing one’s duty. Are you aware of the Congregation’s holdings on Teer Fradee?”

The change in subject was so abrupt that it took Kurt a moment to follow, but he nodded. “Yes. The Congregation established a settlement there five years ago. New Serene.” Major Sieglinde, an old friend of his, had joined the regiment that was stationed on the island.

“The governor there, Lady de Morange, is a friend of mine…though she has often been at odds with Augustin. He is seeking to replace her, and planning to appoint Constantin to the role.” She paused. “He wishes to make Alexandra his legate, to handle affairs of diplomacy while on the island.”

Again, she fixed him with a steady look. “Would you be willing to accompany them to Teer Fradee? You would remain with the Blue-Silver Regiment, but it would mean leaving behind most of your comrades here.”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “I’ll accompany them. I’ve heard a little about the island; I know it’s dangerous. The Congregation’s relations with the natives are friendlier than the Bridge’s or Theleme’s, but there are wild animals, and the roads aren’t safe.” Sieglinde had written to him of highwaymen and bandits roaming the island, as well as packs of creatures that were like bears, wolves, and even giant lizards, though far more vicious than anything on the continent. “I wouldn’t want to leave Green Blood unprotected. Or His Highness, for that matter, though I’m sure the governor will have a palace full of soldiers. I know the Guard keeps several regiments on the island.”

“Augustin expects they’ll be gone for several years.”

Kurt didn’t hesitate. “I’ll stay with them.”

“Good.” Worry passed over Jeanne de Sardet’s features. “It will be several months before they depart, perhaps as long as half a year…but once they do, they will be gone. The journey to Teer Fradee takes more than three months.” She looked down, smoothing her dress, then looked back up at Kurt, making direct eye contact. “I will be dead by the time she returns from that island. I do not know if I will live long enough to see her depart, but even if I do, we will have to say goodbye sooner than she would like.”

“I would like to believe that Augustin would look out for her, but he has always kept his own counsel and had his own plans. He cares for her as his niece, but he would still use her for his own ends, just as he would use his only son.” Jeanne de Sardet crossed the space between them with a few short, painful steps. “You will look after her, will you not? As I said, you are one of the few people she trusts. I would like to be reassured that her trust is not misplaced.”

“It isn’t. I promise you that,” said Kurt.

“Then you will go with her?”

“As long as my commanding officer permits.”

“Your commanding officer will do whatever Augustin tells him…and Augustin will do what I tell him, at least in this matter. He will see the point of it. If Constantin is to be governor, he ought to have a captain of his guard who he knows and trusts, and who we know to be trustworthy.”

“He will,” Kurt promised, then took a moment, searching for the right words to say. "I am honored by your trust. I hope I will not disappoint you." 

Jeanne de Sardet nodded. “As long as you care for my daughter, you will not." She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes, and Kurt could tell how much the audience had cost her; her shoulders were rigid, and her hands flexed with pain she could not wholly conceal.

But when she opened her eyes, her voice was steady, even if her hands gripped the arms of her chair. "Thank you for your time, Captain. Now, if you wish to find Alexandra…I fear she does not understand why I am sending her away.”

Kurt could understand. “You don’t want her to suffer.”

“I’d rather she remember me as I am, not as I will be. Even now…by the time she is ready to leave, I shudder to think of what I will look like.” She grimaced. “The pain has become difficult to conceal, and my physicians say it will only grow worse. I fear the worst is yet to come, and yet…I think I could endure it if I knew she would not have to watch me die. I know how much it pains her already, and I would not put her through worse. No parent wants to see their child suffer, much less know that they are the cause.”

“Teer Fradee will be a new life for her, a new beginning. There are so many things she will have to learn…I only hope she will forgive me.” Jeanne de Sardet remained lost in thought for a moment longer before lifting one black-veined hand. “You are dismissed, Captain. Go to my daughter. Augustin should be done with her, or nearly so.”


	2. The Assignment

Kurt went to the Prince d’Orsay’s chambers, only to be met by Constantin in the hallway. “Kurt! Have you seen my cousin? I thought you would be with her.”

“She’s with your father. Your aunt wanted a word with me.”

“Aunt Jeanne? What did she want?” Constantin’s tone indicated that he thought he already knew. “Was she telling her everything that my father was telling me?” He didn’t wait for Kurt to respond, his voice rising in indignation. “He’s exiling me, Kurt! He’s finally decided that his disappointment in me is so great that he needs to send me from his sight. He’s sending me to the end of the world.”

“To be governor of the Congregation's holdings on Teer Fradee. That’s hardly a punishment.”

“Isn’t it? He wants me to serve a five-year term in New Serene. Five years! It takes three and a half months to sail there, and four to return. That means I'll be away for nearly six years. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”

“Your cousin will be coming with you,” Kurt pointed out. “Didn’t your father tell you? You’re going to be the governor, and she’ll be the legate.”

“He did,” Constantin acknowledged. “That’s the only good thing about all this. I don’t know what I’d do if he’d told me he was sending me off alone.”

“How does your mother feel about it?” Heloise d’Orsay wasn’t at all close to her son, but from what Kurt had seen, she did prize the status he gave her as the Prince d’Orsay’s only son and heir.

“My mother? She’ll hardly notice I’m gone. I’d wager she won’t even come to the docks to see me off.”

“Did your father mention when we’re leaving?”

“Six months, he thinks. Less if he can speed up the arrangements with the Nauts, but he does want to send word to New Serene to let them know—” Constantin broke off. “Wait. You’re coming with us?”

“I am.”

Constantin frowned. “I would have thought that my days of being treated as a child were over. The thought that I am still some helpless child in need of a bodyguard to defend me – well, it’s insulting, don’t you think?”

“It’s always nice to feel wanted,” Kurt said dryly. “Your father seems to think you’re not apt to take care of yourselves alone.”

“Which reflects poorly on you,” Constantin said. “I’m sure you’d prefer staying here.”

In truth, Kurt didn’t think he was right. _It isn’t as if I have any close friends in the barracks I’d be leaving. Green Blood and His Highness have been my closest companions all these years, and the princess is right: I’d rather not leave them, especially not now. She’s right; Green Blood shouldn’t be abandoned by everyone she’s ever known, and the Prince d’Orsay can’t be trusted to look out for her best interests._ Even Constantin couldn’t be relied upon to look out for her; he loved his cousin, and was certainly concerned for her, but Kurt knew that Constantin’s ego often blinded him to concerns that weren’t his own.

Even now, Constantin was going on about his own anger at being sent away. “It isn’t fair. He didn’t ask me what I wanted. He’s never asked me what I wanted. I’m too much a disappointment, too great a failure. This is my chance to prove myself, he said. My last chance to show him that I’m good for something. To be sent away to live amongst savages and sailors!”

“That may be why he’s sending me with you, Your Highness,” Kurt said. “Teer Fradee’s not safe. The Bridge Alliance and the natives are at war, and there are said to be hordes of wild beasts that roam the island, even creatures as tall as buildings. I trained you as well as I could, but a horde of angry natives or a pack of wolves is beyond your skill. Though I doubt the sailors would give you much trouble.”

“It’s said the Nauts poison their blades,” said Constantin. “That hardly seems honorable.”

“I don’t think they care as much for honor as they care for defending their ships.”

“Whereas you taught us to think differently. ‘Fight with honor!’” Constantin proclaimed, thrusting an imaginary sword into the air. “Shall we go see if my fair cousin is ready to greet us?”

Alexandra de Sardet was just emerging from her uncle’s chambers when Kurt and Constantin reached her. “Did you hear?” she asked, looking from Kurt to Constantin, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of one hand.

“That they are sending us away? Yes,” Constantin said, sighing dramatically.

De Sardet looked to Kurt. “Why did Mother want to speak with you?”

“She asked me to accompany you. I’ll be the captain of the guard in New Serene, assuming your uncle agrees.”

Alexandra de Sardet’s reaction was the opposite of Constantin’s. “I’m so glad,” she said. “We won’t be entirely alone in New Serene. Leaving Mother would be hard enough, but leaving everyone and everything else I’ve ever known…”

“We’d still have each other,” Constantin told her. “I would never leave you behind.”

“I hate the thought of leaving Mother behind. Alone, ill…she says she wants me to go, but how can I, when she’s so sick? She’s only going to grow worse, and…I should stay until the end. I told her as much, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Father said it was my duty to go to Teer Fradee,” said Constantin. “He said that it was high time I made something of myself…though he doesn’t trust me to do it on my own. He’s sending Kurt to be my nursemaid, and Sir de Courcillon to nag me.”

“And me,” de Sardet said. “I hope I’m not an unwelcome companion.”

“You, unwelcome? Never. I could not imagine leaving without you, my dear cousin.”

“I never imagined leaving at all,” said de Sardet; her voice was still distant enough that Kurt knew she was thinking of her mother. “I hope that your father will reconsider, Constantin. If we could delay for even a few years…”

“You know he won’t. He doesn’t care. If there is one thing I am certain of, it is that my father entirely lacks a heart.” Constantin gave another over-dramatic sigh. “If he had one, he wouldn’t be sending us away. I will try to talk to Mother. I may be able to persuade her that she ought to let us stay.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” de Sardet cautioned him, but Constantin’s enthusiasm was growing by the minute.

“If she speaks to him, he may reconsider. Mother may not like me, but she knows that her power derives from me being my father’s heir. It’s such a long sea voyage to Teer Fradee…and the island itself is dangerous…what if something were to happen to me?”

“Constantin, don’t say that,” de Sardet begged, and Kurt saw the flash of fear in her eyes.

_He’s half of all she has left,_ he thought. _When her mother dies, he’ll be everything to her._

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Your Highness,” Kurt said roughly, hoping to make him realize how worried his cousin was. “I’ll be there to protect you, and you’ll have a whole palace full of guards at your service. Besides, as dangerous as the island is, it’ll probably be nothing compared to Serene.”

In recent years, the city had grown increasingly more dangerous as it continued to decay, people dying in droves of the malichor: angry, desperate citizens had rioted more than once, while others had turned to joining roving gangs of ruffians, men and women who preyed upon hapless travelers and unwary pedestrians. _And that’s without considering all the intrigues in the palace._ He’d kept a number of noblemen from carrying out their designs on the prince’s heir, putting himself in harm’s way for them; it had been a decade, but he’d taken a knife while keeping his charges safe, and had the scar to prove it. _If anything, the island might be safer. At least there, I’ll know who their enemies are._

Sieglinde had written to him of native warriors, roving packs of wild animals, and occasional groups of bandits and highwaymen. _I’ll be glad to leave palace intrigue behind. Sieglinde says the natives have honor, at least, and the Congregation isn’t at war with them._ “Who knows?” he said aloud. “It may be safer.”

Constantin wouldn’t hear of it. “Perhaps Sir de Courcillon can be persuaded to work upon my father. He can hardly want to leave the city. Though he is timid…”

“Do you want to leave?” It took Kurt a moment to realize that de Sardet had addressed him. “Kurt, how do you feel about this?”

“I’m a soldier,” he said. “It’s not my place to have feelings. As long as I’m paid, I’ll go where I’m ordered.”

Constantin let out a huff of disappointment, and Kurt couldn’t help but scoff, “You didn’t think you were going to get me to go to your father about this, did you? It’s not as if he’d listen to me.”

“Even if you did get out of it somehow, he’d only send someone else,” Constantin conceded. “One member of the Coin Guard would be the same as another. But there’s only one of me, and if I can convince Mother to help me escape from the dangers of such a journey…” He bounded off, leaving Kurt to consider which of his charges he ought to stay with.

 _Green Blood,_ he decided; Constantin would be safer in Heloise d’Orsay’s rooms than Alexandra de Sardet would be roaming the halls alone.

“Just because you’re under orders doesn’t mean you can’t have feelings about leaving,” de Sardet told him as Constantin moved off. “Don’t you have anyone you’re leaving behind? Friends? Family?”

“I spend most of my time here at the palace with you, Green Blood,” he replied. “I don’t think most of my comrades here remember what I look like. And I haven’t had any family in a very long time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid none of us will have a say in this. But I am glad you’re coming with us.”

“So am I,” he said without thinking.

She turned to him, blue eyes wide. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, Green Blood. I couldn’t leave you and His Highness alone on a strange island. Constantin probably wouldn’t make it off the ship.”

“He would still have me to look after him.”

“You always do,” Kurt agreed. _But who would look after you, Green Blood?_ Constantin did his best to look out for his cousin, but he wasn’t always the best at seeing when she needed his support. _She’s always getting him out of scrapes, not the other way around._ He couldn’t see that changing, even half a world away.


	3. Constantin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: In which Kurt fishes a drunk Constantin out of a brothel.

As Constantin’s efforts to escape his exile to the island failed, he raged to his cousin about the unfairness of it all. “He would send me away, and no one cares enough to try to keep me from going! My dearest mother would not even see me. She said that my father’s decision is law.”

“I hope you can find some way to convince them,” de Sardet told him. As always, she agreed with Constantin about the unjustness of his father’s decision, though this time her agreement was underpinned by her own concerns; Kurt saw her red-rimmed eyes and wondered if her cousin thought of how his father’s decision had affected her.

_If it was his father who’d taken ill, he’d be celebrating,_ Kurt thought. _He wouldn’t care about his mother, any more than she would care about him if he took ill._ He pitied Constantin for that; despite all the luxuries of a noble’s life, Constantin d’Orsay lacked parents who loved him.

_My parents never loved me, but at least I have a few memories of someone who did,_ he thought, remembering his own wet nurse. The Coin Guard had taken him from Clara when he was five. _Or she gave me up; I was never certain._ She had died of the malichor little over a year later, and he wondered if she had known of her illness even then. _If she hadn’t died, would I still have ended up in the Coin Guard?_ His parents had both been officers of the Coin Guard, but they’d died in battle long before he’d known their identities. _If it wasn’t for their names on my enlistment papers, I’d never have known anything about them at all._

Where Constantin d’Orsay’s grief came from his parents’ neglect, Alexandra de Sardet’s came from her closeness to her mother. “Mother says that my uncle’s decision is law, and that she agrees with it. I don’t understand why.”

“She knows how hard this has been on you, Green Blood,” Kurt offered. _She knows it won’t get easier._ Kurt wondered if that was why his wet nurse had given him up to the Coin Guard so early; training had certainly not been easy on him, but watching a mother die would have been harder, especially since he had been too young to understand.

_Green Blood understands, and it’s still hard on her._ Alexandra de Sardet did her best not to weep in front of her mother, not wanting to burden her with her grief, but Kurt saw how it wore on her. _She’s never alone, not truly._ Kurt was always standing in her shadow, watching for threats, and he could see the sag of her shoulders as she left her mother’s room, or the afternoons when she shut herself in her room, claiming a headache, when Kurt could hear the muffled sounds of sobbing through her door.

_Her mother is right,_ he thought. _It’ll only get harder._

So when the Prince d’Orsay charged ahead with his plans, Kurt could not be entirely sorry. He certainly wasn’t sorry to receive his transfer orders; he’d served in the Congregation for more than fourteen years, but he had never enjoyed the palace intrigues, and he found himself looking forward to whatever challenges the island might bring.

_It’ll be good for both of them,_ he thought. _Green Blood won’t be locked in a world of grief, and Constantin deserves a chance to get out of his father’s shadow. Give him a little independence and let him live his life._ Kurt sometimes thought that most of Constantin’s problems were caused by trying to rebel against his father; he saw what his father wanted, and did the opposite. _It’s as if he realized he couldn’t earn his love, so he decided that anger would be better than indifference._

That realization was never truer than the day the Prince d’Orsay had chosen to formally celebrate his son’s appointment as governor and his niece’s appointment as legate. He had declared a banquet and ball would be held for the pair; while Constantin, as the son of the Prince d’Orsay and future governor of Teer Fradee, was the primary guest of honor, Alexandra de Sardet’s appointment as legate would also be celebrated.

Kurt had been forewarned that a number of other appointments would be announced, including Sir de Courcillon’s appointment as special advisor to the governor, and that the Prince d’Orsay was likely to offhandedly mention that he would be accompanying his son and niece to the island to serve as Constantin’s captain of the guard. As such, his commanding officer had advised him to wear a dress uniform instead of his usual blue and silver doublet, and he’d had to spend time making himself look presentable instead of attending to either Constantin or his cousin.

When he went to find them both, de Sardet was already fully dressed; she usually loathed the starched dresses and enormous collars that were so fashionable, preferring embroidered doublets and high leather boots, but she always gave into the demands of propriety for formal occasions. This time was no different: she wore a sky-blue dress that brought out the bright blue of her eyes, and her hair was pulled up and away from her face with filigreed combs. In addition to the plain gold of a magic ring, jewelled rings adorned each finger, and a necklace with a dozen small sapphires sparkled like stars on her neck.

She was absolutely lovely, to the point where Kurt found himself forcibly dismissing the thought, refusing even to acknowledge its existence. “Green Blood,” he said, and she turned, looking worried.

“Kurt! Do you know where Constantin is? His servants say he left the palace early this afternoon and hasn’t returned. I was hoping you’d be with him.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t. My commanding officer wanted to see me about the transfer papers. I’ll still be in the Blue-Silver Regiment, but under a different command; Commander Wilfred oversees the Congregation’s continental operations, but Commander Torsten is the regional commander for Teer Fradee.”

“You will be coming with us, won’t you? You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No one would ask me. I have my orders, and I’ll obey, same as you.”

“But…you do want to come?”

“As long as your uncle promises to pay me. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to the sea voyage.”

“Do you get seasick?”

“No, but I’ve had soldiers’ rations on a Naut ship before. Four months of wormy hardtack and salted pork doesn’t appeal to me.”

“I hardly think the Nauts would dare feed us such poor fare. Given the sum my uncle is paying them for the passage, I suspect we’ll be dining with the captain himself.”

“You and Constantin, maybe. The rest of us will be down in the hold with the crew, like as not.”

“Maybe the rest of the guards will be, but you’ve promised to stay at our side.” The teasing note in her voice faded as she said, “Do you know who would have been with him? His servants told me that they haven’t seen him in hours.”

Kurt sighed. “A celebration he doesn’t want to attend and a chance to spite his father. You know where he’s gone.”

“Into Serene.” De Sardet frowned. “The Coin tavern, more likely than not...or perhaps the brothel. I’ll need to fetch him.”

“Hold up, Green Blood. This celebration is for you too. Do you think you’re going to go charging into the stews of Serene in that dress?”

“I’ll change,” she said.

“And miss your own banquet? Constantin’s absence is bad enough; I wouldn’t want to face your uncle if neither of you show up.” Kurt sighed. “You go to the banquet. I’ll go get him. Hopefully, I can drag him back here before the night is over.”

“I could convince him to come.”

“You could shame him into coming back, you mean.” Constantin was fond of drinking and gambling at the tavern, and had no qualms about using the services of the Coin brothel; in fact, he seemed to prefer it to utilizing the high-class courtesans who serviced the nobility of the Congregation, men and women who came to the palace and were known for their beauty, elegance, and discretion.

However, he seemed to hate it when his cousin came to retrieve him from the brothels in Serene; Kurt wasn’t sure if that was from genuine concern for her reputation, since what was permissible for lords of the Congregation was often scandalous for ladies, or out of embarrassment, since whenever de Sardet found him in one of those brothels, Constantin was almost always messily drunk and disheveled, sometimes to the point of being unable to stand.

“If I go to fetch him, he’ll come back,” said de Sardet. “If you go, he might not listen.”

“He might try to fight me, but he’ll come,” said Kurt. “If he tries, you know which of us will win. I’ll throw him over my shoulder and carry him back here kicking and screaming, if I have to.”

“I hope it won’t come to that.”

“It shouldn’t. If he’s only been gone for a few hours, he hasn’t had much time to get started.”

As it turned out, Kurt had been overly optimistic: he made his way to the Coin tavern only to have Geoffrey, the tavern-keeper, redirect him to the adjoining brothel. Lieutenant Conrad was the Coin Guard in charge of the brothel operations; when Kurt entered, his expression darkened.

“Do you really have to pull the young lord out of bed again, Captain? He’s spending good coin.”

“Only if his father agrees to settle the tab,” Kurt replied. “His Highness is supposed to be at a banquet right now. Where are his guards?”

“Otto and Hans? With whores of their own. Sir d’Orsay told each of them to pick out one of the ladies – or the gentlemen, if that was their pleasure. He took one of each for himself and went downstairs to one of the private rooms. Told me not to disturb them unless he asked, but that he’d send one of them out if he wanted something more.”

“One of each,” Kurt echoed. “Who is he with?”

“Katja and Victor.”

The names weren’t familiar to Kurt, but he hadn’t expected them to be; Constantin rarely bedded the same person twice, and Kurt didn’t patronize the brothel himself. “Are they downstairs?”

Conrad sighed, nodded, and handed Kurt a key. “He’s taken the best room, as usual. Otto and Hans will probably be in the main room, in one of the stalls.” As Kurt began to descend the stairs, he called out, “If he throws another tantrum, at least try to keep him from breaking any of the furniture!”

“If you think he’s bad here, talk to Geoffrey,” Kurt called back as he trudged down the stairs. Constantin had broken the poor tavern-keeper’s bar furniture on four separate occasions in the last year, instigating drunken bar brawls. _He can’t take out his anger on his father, so he picks fights, beats drunks who never learned how to fight or sober men who realize they’re fighting the son of the Prince d’Orsay, and occasionally almost gets beaten by men who don’t realize who they’re fighting._ Kurt’s guards were always there to intervene in that last case, although a few times they hadn’t been fast enough to stop Constantin from getting a split lip or a black eye; in both cases, Kurt had replaced the guards involved. _Half of the job of protecting His Highness is protecting him from himself._

When Kurt entered the room, Constantin didn't notice; he was naked, entwined in an embrace with a dark-haired man, various articles of clothing strewn about the room. Both men were half-covered by a tangled bedsheet that seemed to be moving of its own accord, until Kurt realized that there had to be another person beneath. The dark-haired man caught sight of him before Constantin, breaking off the embrace and clearing his throat as he caught Constantin’s eye and nodded toward Kurt.

“Kurt!” Constantin exclaimed. Even as he spoke, there was laughter and murmuring, and a buxom redheaded woman appeared from beneath the sheets, as naked as either of the men; Constantin gestured to her, and she scooted up to take her place on his left, the man on his right.

Kurt had interrupted Constantin enough that he was no longer fazed by anything he saw; he’d encountered his charge with any number of combinations of men and women, singly or in larger groups, and a pairing of a single man and a single woman was rather tame by his standards. Constantin was indiscriminate in his tastes, except that he preferred his partners to be young and beautiful.

“That’s enough for today, Your Highness,” Kurt told him.

“It is _never_ enough,” Constantin replied. “How could it be, in the company of these enchanting creatures?” He leaned over and planted a kiss on the redhead’s cheek, then turned and gave the dark-haired man a long, lingering kiss on the lips, open-mouthed and with rather more tongue than was necessary.

“If you’re trying to shock me, Your Highness, you ought to know that I doubt there’s anything you could do that would surprise me,” Kurt said, folding his arms across his chest. “Katja, Victor, pack it up; you’re done here.”

“You know their names! Tell me that you haven’t experienced the delights they have to offer.” Constantin gave a reproving glance to his companions. “You didn’t tell me that you were acquainted with the captain.”

"I haven't had the pleasure," Victor said. 

“Nor I," Katja added, though she took the opportunity to give Kurt an inviting glance, trailing a hand over one ample breast as she did so. "Though I'd certainly be happy to make his acquaintance, if you'd allow." 

Constantin looked to Kurt. “Then how do you know their names?”

“They are employed by the Coin Guard. I spoke to Lieutenant Conrad; he let me know who you hired for the evening.”

Constantin sighed. “I confess myself disappointed. I never have met anyone here who claims to have earned your favor.”

“And never will,” Kurt replied. Since coming to the Congregation, the vast majority of his life had been spent at the palace; he had few days off-duty, and his life revolved around protecting Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet, always trailing in the shadow of one or the other.

“You must have some preferred partner here…though I’ve never been able to convince anyone to tell me if they are, and I believe I’ve been with every prostitute in this brothel…or perhaps even in this city.” Constantin gave a drunken laugh.

Since coming to Serene, Kurt’s preferred partner had been his right hand, but he was hardly about to admit that to Constantin. “I don’t know if I’d boast of that,” said Kurt. “You come here too often.”

“And you don’t come often enough.” Constantin laughed at his own double entendre. “Maybe you should try to find more pleasure in life, Kurt. Then you wouldn’t look so angry all the time.”

“I’d be happier if you didn’t have the habit of running off every time you were supposed to be elsewhere.”

“Why shouldn’t I? At least I know where I stand with my friends here.”

“Friends? You have to pay for their company.”

“I have to pay for your company too, and you aren’t half as much fun.” Constantin put his arms around Katja and Victor. “How many friends do you think I have at court? They only want my company because of my name, or because they want to get closer to my father, or because they hope I’ll support them in some scheme. At least I know where I stand with these friends…and they don’t judge me.” He spoke the words almost as a challenge.

“That’s true,” Katja said, smiling warmly at Kurt. “We don’t judge, and we’d be happy to be your friends as well, Captain...assuming you're as generous as your friend here. I believe that Greta and Johann are making the acquaintances of your companions downstairs. Whatever your desires, you can find someone to accommodate them.”

“I’m no soldier, but certain people will attest I know how to handle a sword,” said Victor, with a salacious grin. “I’d be glad to provide you with a demonstration any time. A man with a captain's salary is always welcome in my bed.”

“I’m afraid you’re not my type,” Kurt replied, but Victor was undaunted.

“You never know until you try.”

Constantin laughed. “He has a point, Kurt! You know, I’ve never seen you here when you’re off-duty.”

“That’s because I’m never off-duty.”

“You must find time for _some_ pleasures,” Constantin persisted.

“How could I, when I have to spend my time tracking pampered princes through the streets of Serene and into the Coin brothel?”

“Surely I wasn’t hard to find!” He let out another over-inebriated laugh. “Yet I’m afraid you find me hard.”

Kurt dropped his eyes from Constantin’s, pointedly looking down. “I couldn’t tell,” he said, completely deadpan.

That brought a laugh from Katja, quickly stifled, and Constantin gave her a wounded look.

Kurt didn’t smile. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly enough.” Constantin’s smile wavered. “You must see that I can’t go back to the palace in this state, so why not let me have my fun? Why don’t you join us?”

Kurt gave him a look, and Constantin burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. Take a night off. Pick a woman…two women, three, however many you want. I’ll tell Conrad to add it to my account. Just don’t take me back to the palace. Please.”

There was enough of a quaver in his voice on the last word that Kurt nearly reconsidered – not taking Constantin up on his offer, but on the idea of whether or not he ought to drag him back to the palace. Then, he thought of Alexandra de Sardet worrying over her cousin’s absence and his sympathy vanished. “You know where you’re supposed to be right now. You could have picked any other night to visit the brothel, but you decided you’d run off now.”

“Green Blood was ready to come down here yourself. Would you want her to see you this way? It’s bad enough when you get drunk at a banquet and make her come to your rescue, and worse still when you get so drunk that you can’t remember her cleaning the vomit off your face.”

Constantin flushed crimson, and Kurt saw his anger flash beneath humiliation. “How dare you,” he began, but Kurt was relentless.

“Do you ever think of anyone else? Do you know what sort of discipline Otto and Hans will face for letting you go missing? They won’t be seeing palace duty again, that’s for certain. Do you know how worried Green Blood was when she realized you were gone? This was supposed to be a night to honor the two of you – but do you think anyone will think about her when you’ve gone missing again, only to show up stinking drunk and smelling like sex?”

“She isn’t going to have many more good memories of Serene. You could have let her have this. She has more than enough to worry about with her mother, and you’re willing to add to that? You know she’s at that banquet now, worrying that you’ve gotten yourself into trouble that you can’t get out of.”

Constantin’s shirt was at his feet; Kurt stooped, picked it up, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at him. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”


	4. Loneliness

Kurt waited for Constantin upstairs; as he ascended the stairs, he heard a woman call out to him. “Captain Kurt," she said, emerging from one of the stalls, an overly-inebriated client stumbling out behind her. 

“Ingrid,” he replied as the man moved past, lacing his trousers as he went. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” she replied, straightening her bodice. “I saw His Lordship come in earlier tonight; I hoped you’d be the one to come and find him. Reiner’s been wanting to talk to you.”

“Reiner,” Kurt said, brightening. “How is he?” He thought of the boy, about twenty years his junior, who he had personally recruited for the Coin Guard. “I know he did well in training.” He’d met the boy while in the lower boroughs, on his way to fetch Constantin from a seedier tavern than the ones he usually frequented; Reiner had been single-handedly trying to confront a group of drunken sailors who’d overstepped their bounds with one of the local streetwalkers. Kurt had helped the boy, and once the sailors had scattered, had stopped to make sure he was all right.

“That’s what he told me,” Ingrid said. She beamed with a mother’s pride. “He said that Lieutenant Ilse told him he was the best of the lot.”

“Ilse doesn’t give out praise lightly, but she’s right. I stopped by the barracks to check up on him from time to time, and I could see for myself that he'll be a credit to the Coin Guard.”

“Reiner said you reviewed the recruits once or twice, and that you held some trainings for them. I thought you might be looking after him.”

“I told you I would.” Ingrid had worried about her adopted son's decision to join the Coin Guard, fearful that he would die fighting on some foreign battlefield, but Reiner had been so enthusiastic about the idea of joining up that she’d had no choice but to give in once he'd turned fifteen. 

“I can’t promise you I’ll protect him, but I will keep an eye on him,” Kurt had told her when Reiner had marked his recruitment papers; he could neither read nor write, so Kurt had read the papers to him, and helped him make an ‘X’ on the line where he’d promised to give the Coin Guard a ten-year term of enlistment. "We're soldiers, and such work is never safe, but I'll do everything I can to help him learn to protect himself." 

Kurt had kept his word: he’d stopped in to watch the new recruits whenever his own duties had allowed, giving Reiner advice, helping him practice, and asking Ilse and the sergeants in charge of training how he was faring. “Ilse told me he took well to training. Like a duck to water, she said.”

“He has. He’s so happy. I was nervous about him joining up, but it seems he’s found where he belongs.” Ingrid sighed. “I suppose there wasn’t much of a choice. There’s naught else for him here. The Nauts might have taken him, but they look upon volunteers with suspicion, and Reiner would never agree to forsake his family. He’s insisted on sending most of his pay to me, to help pay to keep his siblings. He wants me to find trades for them; he’d rather that Anna, Freyja, and Robert not have to make their livings on their backs.” Reiner was the oldest of four: he had two sisters and a brother, all being raised by Ingrid. Ingrid was their aunt by blood, but had raised the children as a mother after their parents had died: their mother from malichor, their father from having his throat slit after he’d been found out cheating at cards in a tavern.

“I told him that making his living here would be safer than joining the Coin Guard,” Ingrid said. “He told me that it was safer, but far less honorable. Not that he meant it as an insult to me, of course, but it was a path he would never choose for himself. He said there's no glory in pleasuring men for coin, and no glittering honors for those who do it well." She laughed. "I tried to tell him that sometimes men do sing songs about us here, but alas, they aren't the sort that he'd want to hear sung." 

"I told him when he joined up that it isn't all songs and glory. There's plenty of hard work and drudgery, training and following orders." 

"He knew. He told me that it would all be worth it, if he could be proud of his work. He wanted to serve with honor, alongside men and women who felt the same, and show that he could be as brave as any of them." 

“That sounds like Reiner.” Kurt couldn’t help but smile. _It sounds like me, when I was his age._ Reiner reminded him of himself then: full of the Guard’s ideals, wanting to serve, but also wanting to prove himself. _He cares for his honor, but he wants the glory, too._

“I am glad, Captain. That you found a place for him. I must admit, I always feared for his future in Serene. There’s too much malichor, and not enough trade. He might have found a place working in some warehouse for one of the merchant families, or maybe as hired muscle for one of the taverns, but that would never have made him happy. He’s always dreamt of something more, even though he’s always done what he had to, to help provide for his brother and sisters. I still remember him when we buried his mother; he was only seven, but trying his best to comfort them, slipping them some of his bread when times were lean, promising them he’d beg for their supper if he had to. Thankfully, your Lieutenant Conrad has a soft spot for hungry children, or I don’t know what I’d have done; my fees keep me in comfort, but raising four penniless children is something else entirely.”

“Conrad grew up hungry himself,” Kurt said. “He knows what it’s like. Reiner won’t ever have to worry about that in the Guard.”

“I know. Three meals a day, a roof and bed, and a decent wage. Given how things are nowadays, he couldn’t find that anywhere else – unless he signed a contract to work here, and he would never have done it. He doesn’t look down on anyone here, and I think he’d have done it if it was the difference between feeding the children and letting them go hungry, but it would have broken his spirit. He’s too proud for work like this, not eager enough to please.”

Kurt heard noise on the stairs; Ingrid heard it too. “That sounds like your prince,” she said. “But please, go see Reiner tomorrow. He’s sent me word – he’s being reassigned. He said he wanted to talk to you before he left Serene.”

“Left Serene?” Kurt repeated.

Ingrid nodded. “I wouldn’t stop him – not that I could, he’s a soldier now, and you soldiers go where you’re ordered – but I wouldn’t try in any case. He’s excited, I think, but nervous too. He wanted to tell you.”

“I’ll know where to find him. Thank you, Ingrid,” he said, just as Constantin came stumbling up the stairs, looking hopeful as he saw Kurt speaking with Ingrid.

“Kurt! You haven’t changed your mind, have you? If you’ve found a lady you’d like to spend some time with, I would certainly pay whatever she wishes for you to spend a few hours in her company, which I am sure is _most_ delightful—”

“Ingrid is the mother of a boy I recruited for the Coin Guard,” said Kurt. “She was asking me to check up on him.”

Constantin wilted in disappointment, but managed to flash a smile at Ingrid. “I’m sure your son is a fine addition to the Coin Guard. You must be proud of him.”

“I certainly am. Captain Kurt says he’s a fine soldier.”

“Well, if Kurt says it, it must be true. He rarely praises anyone – save, perhaps, for my fair cousin, though I must admit she is always deserving.” As Constantin ascended the last few steps, he tripped over his own feet; Kurt caught him, though Constantin tried to wave him off embarrassedly.

“Come on,” Kurt said. “We have to get you back to the palace.” He glanced at Conrad. “I don’t want to have to carry him through the streets, and I don’t think he’ll be riding anywhere.”

“I think there’s a hack coach down the street,” said Conrad.

“Go wave down the driver. You can add the cost to his tab.”

“What about Otto and Hans?”

“Tell them they’re off palace duty until further notice. I’m sure that Captain Werner will want to have words with them...if they don't end up before the commander himself, that is. The Prince d'Orsay is sure to be furious, and he'll want to have someone to punish. I hope they've enjoyed their time here; he'll have their hides for this.” Kurt didn’t have any sympathy for the two men. _They should have let me know that he was trying to leave the palace._ Accepting Constantin’s offer and using the services of the Coin brothel while on duty was a far more serious infraction, and Kurt knew that both men would face discipline for having shirked their duties. _But that’s not my concern. Constantin is._

Constantin didn’t speak to him again until they were in the coach, halfway back to the palace. “I’m sorry, Kurt,” he said, sounding perfectly apologetic. “You’re right. I didn’t think about anyone else.” He bit his lip, then fell silent for a long moment before bursting out, “But it isn’t fair! Why should I have to celebrate being cast aside like some broken toy my father no longer has use for? Why should my fair cousin have to grit her teeth and celebrate being sent halfway across the world when she doesn’t want to go?”

“If I were you, it seems to me that I would be glad to go to this island,” Kurt replied. “You’re looking at it as being cast aside, but shouldn’t you see it as an opportunity? Your parents will be halfway across the world, you’ll be governor of your own city, you’ll be free to act as you wish. I don’t know why you aren’t eager to go.”

“You’ve said for so long that you want to be free of your father – well, it seems to me that, on that island, you’ll be freer of him than you ever were here.”

Constantin didn’t respond, but he looked thoughtful. When they returned to the palace, Kurt steadied him as they went to his rooms; as he paused outside, Constantin looked to him. “Do you have any resuscitation powder on you? Perhaps an antidote?”

Kurt carried a few phials of various potions on him at any given time: medicines meant to help with balance, power, and healing in combat. Resuscitation powder was one of the more expensive items, but could revive an unconscious man and restore enough strength to him to get him through a fight.

A smaller dose of that powder, Kurt knew, was also a common remedy for a hangover, especially when combined with various antidotes or health potions. “It might help you tomorrow, but I don’t know if it’ll sober you up.”

“It will,” Constantin said with the confidence of someone who had done it before.

Kurt handed him over the phials. “You’d better replace this. They'll come out of my wages if you don't.”

“I will. Thank you, Kurt.” Constantin vanished into his rooms, and reappeared a few moments later having thrown on a fresh change of formal clothing. His hair was still hopelessly askew, but he looked presentable.

“Come on. You’ll be late, there’s no helping that, but at least you’ll be there.”

“It would have been easier not to show up at all,” Constantin muttered. “My father won’t be happy.”

“But Green Blood will,” Kurt reminded him, and Constantin nodded.

His appearance was about as successful as Kurt could have hoped: Constantin bowed and made profuse apologies, while the Prince d’Orsay was cold, remarking, “Constantin. How kind of you to join us…more than two hours late at a banquet held in your honor. Even the smallest responsibilities seem to elude you.”

Constantin had taken it on the chin, apologizing without arguing for once. “I’m sorry, Father. I know I have no excuse. The time got away from me.”

“Got away from you.” Augustin d’Orsay fixed his son with a cold stare. “That is your only excuse.”

“I’m afraid so. I wish it were otherwise, but, alas! I find myself entirely at your mercy.”

The flippant remark sparked the Prince d’Orsay’s anger, and he stopped the feasting to lecture his son publicly. Kurt had hoped that he might ignore him entirely, but amidst his remarks, he added, “Thank you, Captain, for retrieving my errant son. I note that you fetched him from wherever he ran off to this time. Undoubtedly a tavern.”

Kurt didn't correct him, knowing that it would hardly help matters to admit the truth, especially so publicly. _D'Orsay would be angrier if he knew he'd been at the brothel again._ Kurt thought that might be part of the reason Constantin insisted on frequenting the Coin brothel: for a prince of the Congregation, seeing courtesans was accepted, even expected; visiting common prostitutes in the Coin brothel was another matter entirely.

The Prince d'Orsay took his silence as assent. “I am not sending you to Teer Fradee to make you governor of the wine-sinks,” he told Constantin. “I am sending you to govern, in the hopes that you will learn how to rule a city…a lesson you ought to have learned ten years ago.”

Constantin didn’t fight back; instead, he nodded, accepting the public rebuke with a level of acceptance he usually didn’t display when his father was involved. “I will publicly and willingly admit, Father, I am entirely in the wrong. My sincerest apologies – to all of you,” he added, half-turning and sweeping an arm across the room before looking back to his father. “I promise you, I will not disappoint you in Teer Fradee.” 

Augustin d’Orsay was unimpressed. “If only I could believe that.”

“You have missed the announcements,” Heloise d’Orsay spoke up; the look she gave Constantin was a distant look of disgust, as one might give to a particularly annoying insect before swatting it. “You know that you are to go to Teer Fradee as governor, with your cousin as legate and your former tutor as one of your advisors; however, you did not hear that your father has commissioned a portrait for the occasion.”

“It was Jeanne’s idea,” Augustin said. “She wished for a portrait of her daughter to be painted before her departure, so I did the same. Sir de Cortone will be painting you both.” Edmond de Cortone was from a family that had once been of princely rank; they had fallen in fortune since their glory days, and were now among the lower nobility, but Sir de Cortone’s rank had apparently been sufficient to win him the commission.

“Sir de Cortone?” Constantin echoed. “That is indeed a great gift. I have always wanted to sit for a portrait.” His eyes sparkled, and Kurt could already imagine that he was picturing himself in half a dozen different costumes: the conquering hero in full armor, the statesman in a richly embroidered doublet, the rakish dandy with blade in hand.

“Now you’ll have your chance. Don’t make me regret it.” The Prince d’Orsay made a gesture toward Constantin’s empty chair. “Go on. You’ve disrupted the festivities for long enough; the next course is waiting.”

The banquet resumed, and Kurt took his place along one of the walls, watching as Constantin seated himself between his mother and cousin. Heloise d’Orsay barely acknowledged her son, but Alexandra lit up at the sight of him, and Kurt watched as Constantin began talking as animatedly as he could, as if he hadn’t just missed most of the meal. As Kurt took his usual station behind their dining table, he caught bits of their conversation.

“You know, I’ve reconsidered,” Constantin declared. “This may not be a punishment – it may indeed be a great opportunity! The distance may in fact be part of its charms…yes, even for you,” he said, seeing de Sardet look at her plate. “Once the inevitable occurs, you will surely wish to be far from everything that might serve as a most painful reminder of loss. Teer Fradee will be entirely new, free of any associations that would cause you grief. It’s even in the name of our city! New Serene will be a new start for us both.”

“I’m surprised,” de Sardet said. “In all honesty, I thought you’d chosen not to come tonight because you were protesting against celebration.”

“If I’m to be entirely honest with you, I hadn’t intended to come at all. But upon further reflection…” Constantin cast a brief glance back at Kurt, and de Sardet laughed.

“Constantin! Don’t tell me that your father was right, and you made poor Kurt fetch you from a tavern.”

“Not exactly,” Constantin said, but the tone of his voice and the way his eyes darted away from de Sardet’s face changed her laughter to one of mild reproof.

“Not a tavern? Constantin.”

“What? I have needs,” he said, then paused with a look of horror on his face. “You don’t think I said that too loudly, do you?” Quickly, he darted a glance to his right, where his mother was seated, but the horror faded when he saw that Heloise d’Orsay was deep in conversation with his father. “Of course she didn’t hear. I should have known. I could talk about lying with a dozen whores and she wouldn’t hear, because she’s never paid attention to anything I’ve said. I could discuss in detail what I'd done with every last one of them, and she would never know, because I am truly beneath her notice.”

“Constantin,” de Sardet chided him. “Someone will hear.” She paused. “Kurt talked me out of it, but I was going to go and find you.”

“I’m certainly glad you didn’t! There’s no sense in both of us incurring my father’s wrath – or worse, his _disappointment_.” The word was laden with bitterness, and despite how much he’d already imbibed that evening, Constantin downed the contents of his wineglass in a single throw. “And I would hardly wish you to risk your reputation for me, my fair cousin! It’s a terrible double standard, but it’s one thing for Sir Constantin d’Orsay to be seen in a brothel in Serene, and quite another for Lady Alexandra de Sardet. While I’m usually quite content to share your company, I’m afraid there are some occasions where it’s best that we remain apart, as greatly as that pains me to say.”

“It doesn’t help your reputation either.”

“Perhaps I don’t care about my own reputation. What does it matter to me? I’m already a disappointment, the underachiever, the son who could never hope to live up to Sebastien’s legacy.” Constantin let out a despairing laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if the only reason my father prized him so much was because he didn’t live long enough to disappoint him.”

Alexandra de Sardet looked pained. “Constantin…”

“But enough of that! Perhaps Teer Fradee will be exactly what we both need: a place to start anew, where anything is possible. You know, they say this island is an island of miracles? Perhaps we might even find a cure for the malichor.”

“Even if we did, it couldn’t possibly come in time to help my mother.”

“You never know!” Pushing his way past his own darker mood, Constantin made an effort to cheer his cousin. Kurt watched as he spun out grand descriptions of the island, started to weave plans for the city of New Serene, and asked his cousin what she knew of Teer Fradee and the Congregation’s settlement there. Gradually, he drew de Sardet away from thoughts of her mother, until she was smiling at his jokes and then laughing. By the time that the Prince d’Orsay reiterated their appointments, toasting Constantin and then his cousin, Alexandra de Sardet looked as if she had almost forgotten her cares.

_That is Constantin at his best,_ Kurt thought. Charming, engaging, and full of concern for the cousin he loved, willing to put aside his own worries in order to cheer her up. _This island should be good for him. If he can get away from his father, I think things will change._ Constantin was always at his worst when attempting to spite his father, or when attempting to make his parents’ disappointment a self-fulfilling prophecy; set free of their expectations, he might have a chance to prove himself.

 _It might be good for her, as well._ As the banquet ended and dancing began, Kurt kept an eye on de Sardet; she was gracious as always, diplomatic and charming, greeting various nobles with politeness and skill. He watched as she accepted their congratulations, fielded questions about her new position, and kept an eye on Constantin to ensure he didn’t embarrass himself, but unlike most nights, she didn’t have to intervene; Constantin was behaving himself. _She’ll make a fine diplomat._ He only hoped that she would be happy as well as successful. _This city isn’t good for her, either. Caged in this palace, watching her mother slowly wither away, trying her best to stay out of all the intrigue…she may well be happier in New Serene. I hope she will._

As for Kurt himself, he had difficulty imagining any sort of future for himself. _I’m a coin-fed mercenary, mustered into the Guard as soon as I could hold a wooden sword. I’ve served in the Coin Guard for thirty years, and I’ll likely serve thirty more, unless I die in battle before then._ Obey your orders, do your duty, and die with honor: that was the Coin Guard’s way, the only life he’d ever known.

He watched as Constantin approached his cousin, asking for a dance, and saw her smile and agree. Constantin took her hand and led her to the ballroom floor. As the music began, Kurt watched the dozens of couples mingling and moving, and couldn’t help but feel entirely alone in the crowded room.

 _I’m always alone._ He had no place among these nobles, but his place was at their side; he spent no time in the barracks with his fellow guards, and had no close friends in Serene. When he’d served on the front lines, he’d had friends; a few of them had accompanied him when he’d transferred to the Blue-Silver Regiment, but both Sieglinde and Manfred had been serving on Teer Fradee for several years now. _Who knows? You may see them again there._

He did his best to shove those feelings of loneliness to the back of his mind. _You’re always alone, and you always will be. Best get used to it._ A change of scenery could make no difference; it could hardly change his future.

Kurt squared his shoulders, faced forward, and watched the ballroom for threats.


	5. Reiner

The next day, Kurt went to the barracks, as he’d promised he would. He had plenty of time: the celebration had run late into the night, and he knew that both de Sardet and Constantin would sleep late as a result.

 _Green Blood won’t be up until ten; His Highness will probably sleep until mid-afternoon, especially if he’s fighting a hangover._ That left him plenty of time to make his way into Serene, where they rose at dawn.

He found Reiner in the practice yard, holding his own against two of his fellow recruits. Kurt watched them; like him, Reiner was most comfortable with heavy weapons, holding the two-handed _zweihander_ that was standard-issue for members of the Coin Guard.

_Not bad at all, considering he’d never held one before training,_ Kurt thought, watching Reiner as he fended off both his fellow recruits. Reiner was shorter than Kurt had been at his age, and a little less broad-shouldered, but he still had twenty pounds of muscle on either of the other recruits he was facing.

“Good work, Recruit,” he said as Reiner sent the blade spinning from one recruit’s hand, then followed it up with a move that would have bisected the other recruit, had their practice been a real fight.

All three recruits saw Kurt and immediately stood at attention. “Present yourselves, recruits!” he barked.

“Recruit Second-Class Werther, sir!” said the one who Reiner had disarmed.

“Recruit First-Class Berthold, sir!”

“Recruit First-Class Reiner, sir!”

Kurt circled them. “Recruit Werther, have you not been taught to hold onto your weapon?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You were holding it too loosely. Recruit Reiner only needed to jar your hand to send that sword flying. Pick it up.” When Werther hesitated, Kurt barked, “Pick it up, I said!”

Werther scrambled for the weapon.

“Hold it like this. It’s a two-handed sword, not a fencing foil; you need to keep your grip.” Kurt unsheathed his own sword and demonstrated. “Show me.”

Werther attempted to do so. “Not like that, recruit! You’re shaming your teacher. I know Ilse taught you better than that.”

He sheathed his own sword to allow him to fix Werther’s grip. “There,” he said, once Werther had finally mastered it.

“Recruit Berthold,” he said, turning his attention on the second man. _A boy, really; they’re all boys._ At fifteen, Reiner was the youngest of the lot, but Werther was a pimply-faced, gangly boy of sixteen, while Berthold was a short, stocky seventeen-year-old with a wispy blond moustache that reminded Kurt of Constantin’s pathetic attempts at the same age. “You have to remember to protect your left side. You keep leaving yourself exposed. If Recruit Reiner hadn’t been occupied with your friend, he could have taken advantage of that earlier.” He looked to Reiner. “Recruit Reiner, present me your sword.”

“Sir, don’t you—” blurted Berthold.

Kurt fixed him with the sort of look that made recruits quail, and was glad to see he hadn’t lost his touch. “Don’t I what, Recruit?”

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn—”

“Didn’t mean to speak out of turn…”

“Sir! Didn’t mean to speak out of turn, sir!”

“Well, you’ve done it already, so you might as well finish your thought.” When Berthold didn’t answer, he added, “That’s an order!”

“Don’t you have a sword of your own, sir? The one you used to show Werther his grip? Sir?”

“I do indeed,” Kurt said as he took Reiner’s sword from him; he couldn’t help but be amused at Berthold’s stumbling, but he wasn’t about to show it outwardly. “But you won’t learn your lesson if I cut you in half. My blade isn’t blunt. I’ll still pull the blow, but I’m not about to deprive the Guard of a new recruit if you make a wrong move.”

“ _En garde!_ ” he called out. “Fight with honor!”

Berthold took a swing at him; as he had before, he dropped his elbow. Kurt sidestepped the blow easily, moved into the opening, and, as promised, pulled his blow.

“Not like that.” He demonstrated the correct pose. “Watch me.” He turned to Werther. “Attack me.”

When Werther did, he blocked the blow and counter-attacked. “Like this. Now you try.”

Again, Berthold missed. This time, Kurt tapped the blade against his ribs: not enough to hurt him, but enough to hurt, if only a little. _Every bruise is a mistake you won’t repeat._ That was a lesson that had been instilled in him during his own training, although his own instructors had been far more vicious. _A bruise is one thing, a broken bone another. There's plenty of time to get injured in battle; no grown man should be leaving a kid with scars._ It was, sadly, a philosophy Kurt's own instructors hadn't shared. _I'd like to think I'm right. I don't have to break a rib for him to learn._

That proved true: the next time, Berthold kept his elbow up and managed to block Kurt’s swing. “Good!” Kurt gestured to Werther. “You two, practice with each other. I want to speak with Recruit Reiner." He nodded to Reiner. “Recruit, with me.”

Reiner nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir!” As they moved away, Kurt put Reiner’s practice sword on a nearby rack, and Reiner retrieved his duty sword. 

Once they were out of earshot of the other recruits, Kurt spoke. “Your mother said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, sir.” Reiner looked both nervous and excited. “I’m being reassigned. I received my orders a few days ago. I’ll be shipping out on the next ship to Teer Fradee.”

“Teer Fradee?” Kurt thought of his own orders.

“I’ll be assigned to duty there. Commander Torsten’s looking for promising recruits, Captain Merrick says, and Teer Fradee is a place where a good recruit can rise high, fast.” Reiner’s eyes shone with excitement. “There’s more to life than city guard duty there, I’ve heard. There are beasts on the roads unlike any in Gacane, and natives who dress in bone masks and feathered skirts and attack merchant caravans, and creatures as tall as houses—”

“And you want to fight them all, is that it?” Kurt laughed.

“I want to _see_ them all,” said Reiner, then grinned sheepishly. “And fight them, yes. There has to be more of a chance to win glory there than on city guard duty here, breaking up fights between drunks in the taverns or keeping order in the streets.” His smile faded. “Besides, they say there’s no malichor on Teer Fradee. I’m getting tired of hauling corpses to the pyre in the Prince’s Place.” A haunted look came into his eyes. “It reminds me too much of my mother.”

But the look vanished quickly; if Reiner did dwell on the past, he wasn’t about to let anyone else know it. “If I can serve out my term on Teer Fradee, maybe I can save enough to bring over my family. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about any of them getting the malichor, either.”

“When do you leave?”

“Less than a fortnight. The _Sea Shrike_ , _Mermaid’s Kiss_ , and _Sailor’s Delight_ are going to make the crossing, and my orders say it depends on when they get their cargo loaded. The _Sea Shrike_ and the _Mermaid’s Kiss_ are taking more cargo than soldiers, but the _Sailor’s Delight_ is a more a troop transport than a cargo hauler. It’ll bring a whole complement of us over.”

“You know a lot about ships," Kurt said, amused. 

“I used to hang around the docks when I was little. I thought I might like running off to join the Nauts, until they told me I’d have to leave my family. The whole reason I wanted to be a sailor was to help my family. I have to say, I think the Coin Guard pays better than the Nauts would have.”

“I’d hope so! The Guard pays us to risk life and limb, defending nobles and fighting their wars; what do the Nauts do, except haul their cargo from port to port?”

“Haul their cargo through storms, across the open ocean for months on end,” Reiner pointed out.

“You’ll be making that same journey, and with less ease at the end,” Kurt replied. 

“The Coin Guard’s a better life, as far as I’m concerned. The Nauts make you join for life, and you have to forsake your family. I liked being Reiner of Serene well enough, and I like being Recruit Reiner of the Coin Guard even better; I wouldn’t want to have to call myself Reynaldo the Sea-Gifted, or whatever the Nauts say about themselves.” Reiner grinned. “Besides, I liked everything you said about the Coin Guard. A brotherhood of soldiers united in working for a common goal, earning glory and serving honorable causes. Earning coin, yes, but standing for something more than that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I already understand what you meant. Werther, Berthold, Greta, all the other recruits – they’re like a second family already. We’ve all been through training together. I’ll miss them.” He ducked his head, suddenly shy. “I’ll miss you, too." 

“As it happens, you won’t be missing me for long,” said Kurt. “I’ve been reassigned to Teer Fradee myself, as the captain of the guard for the island’s new governor, Sir Constantin d’Orsay.”

“That’s why we’re going to the island, I think. No one knows for sure, but there have been whispers that Commander Torsten wants more guards on the island to make sure the new governor is well-protected. Do you know him?”

“Torsten? I’m afraid not.” Kurt had heard some unsavory rumors about the commander, but wanted to reserve judgment until he saw the man for himself. “He inspected a training camp I served at once, when I was just a recruit myself, but I don’t know that he knew much about the place.” _I hope he didn’t._ The ghost camp was a place that Kurt wished he could forget. _Hermann was transferred not long after Torsten visited. Maybe he figured out enough to get him out._

On the other hand, Hermann’s transfer had been accompanied by a promotion, and Kurt didn’t like to think about what that might have meant. _Hermann was a snake – worse than a snake,_ he thought, as memories he wished he could forget started to make themselves prominent. _But he could have deceived Torsten. I doubt his superiors ever knew what he really was._

“I don’t know which regiment I’ll be assigned to yet. I hope it’s the sixth; they say they’re responsible for exploring the island, and helping the Congregation expand its settlements. Even the eleventh might not be bad; they keep the roads free of beasts and bandits, and defend helpless merchants against the natives.”

“Well, I’ll be part of the eighth,” Kurt replied. “The city and palace guard. I hope you won’t look down on that, even if you think there's not much chance for glory!”

Reiner looked sheepish. “I didn’t mean to imply it was a lesser duty.”

“But you think it’s less dangerous. Well, that might be true, though I don’t think I’ll be spending all my time in the palace. The governor’s cousin is accompanying him as his legate, and someone’s going to have to look after her, too. I don’t intend to leave her unprotected, either on the roads or in San Matheus and Hikmet. I don’t know the governors of those other cities, and I don’t trust them.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” said Reiner. “But if you’re supposed to look after the legate and the governor, how can you do both at once?”

“The same way that I do now, I suppose. Divide my time between them,” Kurt said, but Reiner’s question had given him pause. _The pair of them are inseparable now._ On the island, where their duties would undoubtedly keep them apart for days or weeks at a time, it was inevitable that the cousins would spend less time in each other’s company than they ever had. _How will Green Blood take it?_ He suspected that Constantin would revel in his newfound freedom, but it often seemed to him that Alexandra de Sardet had appointed herself as her cousin’s protector, as well as his friend. _She takes her friendship and her support from him. What will happen to her in New Serene?_

The thought worried him, but he dismissed it. _Green Blood’s no wilting flower. She can take care of herself._ But as he thought of his own feelings of loneliness, he knew that he wouldn’t wish the same for her. _I hope she can find a way to be happy there._

As Reiner went on, exuberantly talking about the promise of the island, Kurt couldn’t help but think of Constantin’s changed feelings. _When his father told him he was leaving, he was indignant, but now he can't wait to leave._ _Who knows? Perhaps we’ll all be happier there than we are now._


	6. Mother and Daughter

In the weeks and months that followed, Constantin ceased his pleas to be let out of his new duties, but Alexandra de Sardet did not give up so easily: she begged her mother to reconsider, hoping that she might be convinced to delay their departure until after the inevitable had occurred.

“How can I leave you alone?”

“You must. You are a grown woman, a fine lady, and someday you will be the Princess de Sardet.” Jeanne de Sardet did her best to hide her affliction, but the malichor’s progress was relentless: her eyes developed the characteristic white film of the disease, her vision fading, even as black veins darkened and spread over her face and body. Her pain was such that she chose to spend most of her time seated; standing was more difficult for her, and taxed her strength. Even now, she sat in a chair, her back stiff, trying to hide the pain.

It pained Alexandra de Sardet to see it; every time she came to visit her mother, she thought she saw a new tendril of black, another darkened vein. _The first day that I came and realized she could not see my face…she could not see my tears, but she knew that I was crying._ De Sardet tried to keep herself from weeping in her mother’s presence; the last thing she wanted was to add to her mother’s pain. “Someday,” she managed, trying to keep her voice steady, “but not yet.”

“Oh, my child,” her mother said, sighing. “We both know that day will come sooner than either of us would wish. When it does, you must be ready to take on your responsibilities, not only to House de Sardet but to the Congregation.”

Jeanne de Sardet gripped her daughter’s hand. “We are a proud house, a noble house, with a long and storied history. It was only a few generations ago that the Prince de Sardet was the Prince of the Congregation. De Sardets have served as ambassadors and special envoys to other nations, ministers to the ruling prince; it was your father and namesake who paved the way for the Congregation’s settlement on Teer Fradee, giving his life exploring that island, in the belief that it would secure the future of our nation and its people. It is your duty to follow in his footsteps, as it is Constantin’s to follow in his father’s.” 

“Augustin says that it is high time that you both made something of yourselves, and he is right. Neither of you have a formal role here at the court, and it is high time that you made use of your lessons. You have always represented the House de Sardet well at official functions, and you have always shone at your uncle’s dinner parties and diplomatic engagements, but you are far too gifted to do so little.”

“I would be glad to take on more responsibilities, but…must those responsibilities be halfway across the world? Surely there are roles I might take here.”

“What of Constantin? You know that he has shirked every responsibility Augustin has ever tried to foist upon him. Augustin hopes that the governorship will give him a chance to prove himself worthy of ruling. Even if he is not elected the next Prince of the Congregation, he will still inherit House d’Orsay, and Augustin is determined to ensure that he will not prove the ruin of his house.”

“Constantin…” De Sardet sighed; she knew her mother had a point. “If I asked, he might agree to be more responsible. If my uncle could be persuaded to find some duty for him here in Serene…”

“He has offered him a dozen chances. Constantin has refused all responsibility for the last ten years. Provoking his fellow princes’ sons into pointless duels, spending time in low company in the city…I know how fond you are of him, but you must admit, he has done little to earn his father’s trust.”

“Surely that means he would prefer to keep him closer?”

“Augustin has tried keeping him close. He hopes that granting him more freedom might produce a change.”

“But must he do so now?” De Sardet knelt, gripping her mother’s hand. “If you could persuade Uncle to give him one more chance, to find duties for him that would keep him here, at least for a time…I would make sure that Constantin did whatever was expected of him.”

“How would you intend to do that?”

“I would ask him,” de Sardet said. “Beg him, if I had to, but I would not have to. Constantin would do anything for me, as I would do anything for him. If he understood what it meant to me…why I cannot leave now…”

Jeanne de Sardet gave her a weary smile. “And why is that, my child?”

“Surely you know.” Tears blurred her vision, and a lump rose in her throat, so that she found it nearly impossible to speak. “I cannot leave you now. Not while you are ill.”

“That is why you must leave me. I wish your departure was sooner.”

De Sardet looked down at her mother in dismay. “You cannot mean that!”

“I have no desire for you to stay here, watching me slowly decay, while we are both helpless.” Jeanne de Sardet produced a handkerchief, pressing it into her daughter’s hand. “It pains me to see how you suffer.”

“Because you are suffering!” de Sardet burst out. “You are suffering, and there is nothing I can do to help.”

“Which is why you cannot remain here. You should leave, the sooner the better. If I could hear that you had landed on Teer Fradee, if you could write to me and send me news that you were making a life there for yourself, away from this court, away from all the intrigues and plots of our world…if I could know that you had found happiness, I would be able to die happy.”

“Mother, don’t say things like that. Don’t—”

“Speak of my death? Why ever not? Death is coming for me, child. Look at me.” Jeanne de Sardet swept a frail hand over her body. “My hair has begun to go gray and fall out, my eyes are failing, and there are mornings when I can barely rise from my bed.”

“All that is left to me is light and shadow and the barest flickerings of movement; soon, even those will be gone, and I will be left in darkness. I know that one morning, I will try to rise from my bed and find that I lack the strength. My servants will assist me until one day, I will ask for their help in moving from this chair to my bed only to find that I cannot move at all.”

“Mother—”

Jeanne de Sardet ignored her; she was relentless, pressing onward. “The black blood will pool in my feet and my fingers. If I have not perished by then, my hands and feet will blacken, and the surgeons will take them. The blood will thicken and clot, until one day a clot reaches my heart, or my brain, or my lungs, or until my kidneys become so clotted with blood that I can no longer pass water.”

“When that happens, I will die.” De Sardet could no longer stifle her sob; she let it out, a sharp cry that opened a floodgate of tears, but her mother pressed on relentlessly. “It will be tremendously painful; they say that even the strongest tinctures of laudanum fail to relieve it, all the opium from the Bridge Alliance mixed with the strongest Caledonian wine.”

De Sardet could not respond; she was still sobbing, trying fruitlessly to stop, her mother’s handkerchief soaked through. “You weep now, and it breaks my heart. I do not want you to be here to bear witness.” Jeanne de Sardet reached blindly for her daughter; not wanting to see her mother groping at the air, Alexandra de Sardet crouched down at her feet, then took her hand, squeezing it as tightly as she dared. “You suffer now.”

“Because you are suffering. How can I abandon you? If I leave, you’ll be alone.”

“I will still have Augustin.” Her mother paused. “And I will have you, will I not? You know that I have commissioned your portrait. You have been sitting for it, have you not?”

_A portrait you will never see,_ de Sardet wanted to say. She had begun the portrait sittings, but had put Sir de Cortone off the day she realized that her mother would never be able to see the completed work. _What difference will it make?_

Her mother heard her answer in the silence. “Alexandra, please do this for me. I know I will not be able to see it, but I will have it hung in my room, and it will be as if you are with me.”

“Why can’t I stay?” The words sounded plaintive and childish, a little girl’s cry.

Jeanne de Sardet pulled her close, holding her tightly and stroking her hair, as if she was four years old and just awakened from a nightmare, instead of twenty-four and wishing that her mother’s illness was only a dream. “You’ll learn soon enough. You must leave. Your life lies on Teer Fradee, not in Serene. All these years we have had together have been a gift, the greatest of my life, and I have been selfish to keep you here as long as I have. Augustin would have sent you sooner, but I…I did not have the strength to let you go, and I am sorry for it now.”

“Don’t be,” de Sardet said fiercely. “I won’t go. How could I?”

“Don’t say that. I want you to go. You must.” Her mother held her close, and de Sardet inhaled the familiar scent of citrus and spice: orange oil and cloves, the primary notes of her mother’s favorite perfume. “I want you to be happy. I want you to have a life free of poisonings and plots, where I will not have to worry about you being assassinated for some lord’s gain. I want you to be free of the schemes and the lies…all of them.” Jeanne de Sardet took a ragged breath, and Alexandra realized her mother was also crying. “I have been so very selfish. I hope you will forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You’re sick. Of course you want me to stay.”

“No!” Jeanne de Sardet’s voice rang out with a force that Alexandra de Sardet had not heard in months. “I want you to leave. You must. Promise me you will go.”

She was so agitated that de Sardet would have promised anything to ease her mind. “I promise,” she said. “But…”

“I know you do not understand, but you will. You must leave. Leave, and make a life for yourself, and be happy. You are my daughter, and you always will be, even half a world away.” Jeanne de Sardet was truly a noblewoman of the Congregation: she mastered her tears far more easily than her daughter had mastered her own. “I love you, child, but you must do this for me.”

“Teer Fradee is an island of miracles. You may well find a cure for the malichor on its shores.”

“But not in time!”

“Even so. If you found that cure…or even if you do not, and your sole accomplishment is to do your duties as a legate of the Congregation…I will be satisfied knowing that my daughter has helped her people. I will be far happier knowing that you are on the island, doing your duty, than I would be if you remained here, lingering at the side of a dying woman you cannot hope to help.”

“I would not see you wither away from grief. I would not see this crush you.” Her mother brushed her cheek with her fingers. “I know what it is to feel such pain. I felt it when my children died, one after another, and then when they brought Alexandre’s body home.”

“You were my sole comfort. You were my strength, and my miracle. I hope you can find your strength on this island of miracles." 


	7. Day of Departure

The day of departure arrived; the Prince d’Orsay saw his niece and nephew off with a state dinner the night before. Constantin was ebullient, having fully embraced the idea of ruling over New Serene; he had grand plans for the settlement, speaking as if it was as established a city as Serene itself. Kurt only hoped he would not be disappointed; from what he had heard, the settlement was barely five years old, and had risen from little more than a rustic trading post to become a ramshackle collection of wooden buildings with a Coin Guard barracks, a handful of merchants, and a port district where the Nauts had their warehouses.

“Sir de Courcillon tells me that Lady de Morange has had a fine palace of marble erected,” Constantin said excitedly, forgetting that his cousin had been present when de Courcillon had told him; while both Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet had concluded their formal lessons several years ago, they had now resumed them. De Courcillon, their former tutor, knew a great deal about Teer Fradee; he had participated in several expeditions to the island, albeit not the one that had resulted in the Prince d’Orsay’s death, and had last visited Teer Fradee five years ago, right around the time that the Congregation had begun its construction of the settlement at New Serene. “The governor’s palace will be my home. It isn’t as large as the Prince’s Palace, he says, but it has dozens of rooms.”

“I will have a residence of my own,” de Sardet said distantly, unable to match Constantin’s enthusiasm. As the day of departure drew nearer, Kurt had seen her grow more distracted; she seemed weighed down with grief, as if she knew she would be unable to mourn her mother when she died and was mourning her now instead. “Sir de Courcillon says that the legate has a home of their own in Orsay Square.”

“You will always have a home in the palace itself,” Constantin said. “I would not have you relegated to some wooden hut.”

“From what he has said, it’s hardly a hut,” de Sardet replied, amused. “He says that all of the other nations’ ambassadors make their home in Orsay Square when they are visiting; there are houses for delegations from Theleme and the Bridge Alliance, and even one for the natives, though they have never used it. My house will be mere feet from the palace steps, he says, as close as one can be without being inside the palace itself. Theleme and the Bridge Alliance have set aside similar residences in their own cities, but neither is as near the governor’s palace.”

“Not even Lady de Morange’s residence is as near the palace as your own, Your Excellency,” said de Courcillon.

“Has she chosen not to remain in the governor’s palace? I realize that she must make way for me to take the governor’s suite, but I would gladly have offered her rooms there,” said Constantin.

“She wrote last month that she has taken a house in the Silver District, where all the nobility of New Serene resides,” de Courcillon replied. “She had long desired to purchase a house that might become a more permanent residence; it seems she is very fond of the island.”

“As I already am,” said Constantin. “If Lady de Morange wishes to make her home on the island after five years, I can only imagine how I will feel. Perhaps we will never return!”

De Sardet didn’t respond; she looked lost in sorrow, staring at the seat on the left of the Prince d’Orsay that her mother would once have occupied during banquets. It had been many months since Jeanne de Sardet had been seen outside her rooms; she could no longer see at all, was wracked by pain, and what remained of her hair was entirely gray. Her skin was chalky, a sickly white shade that made the black veins all the more horrible, and those veins had spread to cover her face, hands, and neck, all the skin she exposed.

_It can’t be long now,_ Kurt thought. He knew that likely made it harder on his charge. _She would have stayed until the bitter end if she could._

It made him think of his wet-nurse, Clara, and the way he’d felt at fifteen, when he’d tried to find out what had become of her only to discover that she had died of the malichor little more than a year after surrendering him to the Coin Guard. _I was upset that she sent me away without telling me, even though I was too young to understand._ Kurt had been upset at the thought that she’d died alone, without anyone at her side, though he’d also known that the malichor was a gruesome death, hardly one that she would have wanted a six-year-old boy to witness.

_De Sardet is old enough to understand, but that might make it worse. I don’t think any parent wants their child to watch them die, especially not like that._ Constantin was making a valiant attempt to cheer his cousin, but all his efforts were failing: Kurt could tell her mind was elsewhere, on the mother who had locked herself away from the court, and the thought of leaving her forever.

Meanwhile, Constantin’s enthusiasm was too great to be contained. “This dinner will end far too soon. I wish my father had held a great ball in our honor, as he did the day he announced we were leaving. You would think he would be happy to celebrate my departure.” His expression darkened, but it was only a passing cloud: his enthusiasm was too great to be dampened. “I certainly am! I feel as if I could celebrate until dawn. When this dinner is over, you should come with me, cousin; we can toast Serene until the sun rises, and greet our captain on the docks with the morning tide.”

De Sardet tried to muster a smile. “You should go without me. I still have much to do. As you say, we will be gone for a very long time; I don’t want to forget anything.”

“That’s why we have servants, dear cousin! They would hardly allow you to forget anything.” Constantin seemed to notice Kurt’s presence for the first time. “Have Kurt pack your things.”

“I’d hardly know what dainties to put in her trunks,” Kurt said. He looked de Sardet up and down: she was again clad in the formal garb of a noblewoman of the Congregation, a dress complete with stomacher, ruffles, and lace trim on the collar and sleeves. “Or everything that goes into putting together one of those gowns, for that matter.”

“I’d prefer not to pack a single gown,” de Sardet admitted. “Mother made me put a few into one of the trunks, but you know my preference is for doublets and leggings.”

“Leave it to Kurt, and you’ll end up with a trunk full of weapons, and nothing else,” said Constantin. “I suppose you wouldn’t want Kurt packing your clothes, in any case. Corsets, silk stockings, lace undergarments, perhaps a garter…”

Kurt suspected that Constantin had been aiming to humiliate him, but it was de Sardet who turned red. “I can pack my own things, Constantin,” she said quickly.

“What of you, Kurt? Have you packed?”

Kurt nodded. “I don’t need much.”

"You don't have much, I suppose." Coming from someone else, it might have been meant as an insult, but from Constantin, the words were merely careless, the sort of off-handed remark that de Sardet was forever apologizing for on his behalf.

Now was no different. "Well, I'm sure he doesn't need nearly as many dresses as I do," de Sardet said, trying to make it a joke. "And I'm sure you've packed a great deal more than you need." 

Kurt couldn’t help but look amused. “I’d like to know how many trunks you’ve packed, Your Highness," he said to Constantin. 

“Personally? None,” Constantin said breezily. “I assume that my servants know what I need. I have several trunks packed with my wardrobe, along with certain furnishings for the governor’s palace, some plate with the d’Orsay crest, and a copy of Sir de Cortone’s portrait. As well as a few bottles of my favorite wine, in case there are issues with supplying the island, my best pair of duelling pistols and rapier, some gear for hunting, in case there's time and suitable game to be found on the island...”

“You should tell the Nauts they’re going to need a bigger boat,” Kurt scoffed. “Speaking of portraits, Green Blood, is yours finished?”

He almost wished he hadn’t asked; de Sardet’s expression grew sadder. “I’m sitting for Sir de Cortone again in the morning. He said he wished for the chance to do another sketch in the morning light before my departure.” She gave Constantin a rueful smile. “Which is yet another reason I can’t go out and celebrate with you; I can hardly look my worst for the sitting, and I will have to be up before dawn to meet Sir de Cortone.”

Constantin, who was vain enough that he’d asked de Cortone to paint him in several poses and outfits, and flighty enough that Kurt wasn’t sure he’d finished sitting for any of them, conceded his defeat. “I suppose there is no changing your mind! But I intend to have my fun.”

De Sardet looked to Kurt. “Will you go with him?”

“Me? I think not. I may not have a dozen trunks to pack, but I do have duties that need finishing.” Kurt's commanding officer had instructed him to conclude some business with a vendor of merchandise before he sailed; thus far, the man had proved to be a rogue, refusing to supply the merchandise at the agreed-upon price. _I'll have to convince him as best I can tomorrow; the commander will flay me alive if I don't get those crates released before I sail._ He also had a report to leave for his successor, and he had received orders to report to his commanding officer in the morning, before he left the Prince’s Palace. _I can hardly report to Commander Wilfred if I’m chasing down Constantin in some brothel._ “I’ll ask Otto and Hans to keep an eye on him. They've just been put back on the duty roster for palace duty, and the reprimand they got from the commander last time was harsh enough that they’ll think twice about being too lenient with him.”

De Sardet frowned, and Kurt wondered if she would change her mind and go with Constantin, if only to ensure he didn’t get into too much trouble. _You’d think she was a member of the Coin Guard, always looking to protect him._

"Are you sure he'll be all right?" 

"How much trouble can he get into? He knows to be on the ship with the tide. And he's excited enough that I don't think he'd miss it." 

"I hope not. But perhaps I should go with him." 

"You have duties of your own," Kurt reminded her. "Constantin will understand." _He should,_ he thought, and for a moment resented his other charge. _He should be staying with you. For once in his life, he ought to put you first._

But he knew that was not to be. As Constantin flounced away, Sir de Courcillon approached de Sardet. “Your Excellency," he greeted her. "Once more, please accept my congratulations." 

"Thank you. I am so glad you are coming with us; all my life, your tutelage has proved invaluable, and I am sure it will be even more so on Teer Fradee." 

De Courcillon smiled, clearly pleased. "You're very kind. I will see you tomorrow. It will be an early start; your uncle has already asked that I ensure that we bid farewell to the ambassadors of the Bridge Alliance and Theleme before our departure.”

“That duty will fall to His Highness, will it not?” Kurt asked.

De Courcillon nodded. “As both the new governor and the son of the Prince d’Orsay, they will be expecting him.”

De Sardet looked worried. “I hope he will not overindulge. If he would only celebrate in moderation—”

“You can hope,” Kurt snorted, “but do you think Constantin knows the meaning of the word?”

“He never does anything by halves,” de Sardet agreed.

“I know,” de Courcillon agreed, then looked around, his brow knitting with worry. “You don’t mean to tell me he’s gone out to continue his celebrations tonight?”

“He has,” said Kurt. “I sent two guards to keep an eye on him.”

“I hope they are enough.” De Sardet was still preoccupied. “Perhaps I should have gone with him. If he gets into trouble—”

“If he gets into trouble, it will not be your fault, Green Blood. Our little governor is a grown man.”

“He asked me to come with him.”

“Just because he asked, doesn’t mean you should obey. If anything, he should have stayed with you.”

“I could not expect it of him,” de Sardet sighed. “He is so happy, so eager to celebrate. It isn’t his fault that I cannot join him.”

“You have my most heartfelt condolences on your mother, Your Excellency,” de Courcillon said. “I assume you will go to see her tomorrow?”

“Yes. I am to meet Sir de Cortone at dawn for one final sitting, and then I will say my goodbyes. I am to meet Constantin in the courtyard as soon as possible.”

“Sir de Cortone?” de Courcillon echoed. “You mean to say that he hasn’t yet finished his portrait?”

“He has painted a few preliminary studies, I think, but wished for the opportunity to take a few more sketches before my departure. He said that he wishes to make the portrait as good a likeness as possible.” De Sardet sighed. “I know that artists are never satisfied with their own work, but I know I will have a dozen things to do before we depart tomorrow, and I wish he had not insisted.” She looked away. “I hardly know why it matters. The portrait was commissioned for my mother, and…”

“She will be glad to know it is done,” said de Courcillon, “and I am sure she will wish it to be a good likeness, even if she cannot see it.” He smiled warmly. “Besides, Sir de Cortone is something of a perfectionist when it comes to his art, and he will not want to present her with a portrait that he is not entirely proud of. The rest of the court will still be able to see the portrait, and he would not wish to exhibit something that he considers to be below his usual standards.”

“Exhibit? The portrait was for my mother’s chambers. I doubt anyone will see it.”

De Courcillon looked surprised. “Constantin told me that he hoped the Prince d’Orsay would exhibit his own portrait in the western galleries,” he said. “He spoke as if it were a certainty.”

“You know Constantin,” de Sardet said. 

"I certainly do," her tutor replied, his brow knitting in worry. "Do you truly believe he'll be able to discharge his duties tomorrow?" 

"I do," de Sardet replied. "And, if he finds himself unable...well, he has me, does he not?" 

"He certainly does," de Courcillon replied warmly. Kurt suspected that, like himself, de Courcillon was fonder of Alexandra de Sardet than her cousin; she was certainly the easier to teach of the two, kinder and more thoughtful than her flighty, moody cousin. "You have always been willing to take his responsibilities as your own, whenever necessary. Perhaps that is part of the reason why your uncle has chosen to send you both to Teer Fradee." 

"Perhaps, but I'm certain it will prove unnecessary. Constantin will be a wonderful governor," de Sardet replied, with a sincerity and genuine belief that Kurt doubted anyone else in the Congregation could match. Again, sadness clouded her features. "I only wish his appointment had been delayed, if only for a few months. Leaving Serene at such a time..." 

"I understand," de Courcillon said, clearly sympathetic. "Yet we have no choice in the matter. What the Prince of the Congregation commands, we must obey." 

De Sardet sighed. "You are right, of course." 

“Then I shall see you tomorrow,” said de Courcillon. “Good night, Your Excellency.”

“Your Excellency, is it?” Kurt asked as de Courcillon moved away. “Do you expect me to call you that?”

“Hardly,” de Sardet said, and he saw a brief flash of her usual smile. “I don’t know what I would do if I heard you calling me by my title when we’re alone.”

“Is that Constantin’s new title as well? You know I can never keep track of your noble customs.”

“I know you better than that,” de Sardet said. “You may not like our customs, but you know them. Constantin is also His Excellency, though he’s also His Highness, since he’s the eldest son and heir of the Prince of the Congregation. The heir to a prince or princess of the Congregation is often styled as 'His Highness,' even though it is only a courtesy, as the title is not earned until it is inherited." 

Sadness darkened her eyes again, and Kurt realized it was because she was thinking of herself. _When her mother dies, she’ll be the Princess de Sardet._

“You must be tired,” he said, more gently than usual. “I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”

“Thank you, Kurt.”

“I’ll meet you and Constantin in the courtyard tomorrow,” he told her as they reached her suite. “Hopefully he isn’t too hung over. I’d hoped to practice with both of you before we leave.”

“Practice?”

“Always. I don’t know what the Nauts will let us do on their ship, and I don’t want you growing rusty.”

She opened the door, then hesitated. “I don’t want to leave,” she admitted. “I’ve promised Mother, but…”

“A promise is a promise, Green Blood. You’ve sworn your oath, and you can’t back out now. Your honor is pledged.”

De Sardet nodded slowly. “It is,” she said. “My loyalty to Mother and my duty…”

“Are one and the same. If she’d asked you to stay, it would be harder, but she’s told you to go.”

“I hardly know what I would do. I cannot imagine leaving Constantin, but abandoning Mother now, when she is so ill…”

“You aren’t abandoning her, Green Blood. You’re doing what she wants.” 

De Sardet nodded. “Thank you, Kurt.”


	8. A Final Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first remnant of the old "filling out cutscenes" chapters - a fleshed-out version of the intro. (Random Fun Greedfall Fact: Kurt's line about "the old schoolteacher competing against me" is different if you play Sir de Sardet; he says something about "the old goat" instead.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back (I'm adding chapter names because this has gotten so long), this may be the most pure-recap of the game chapter there is; these early Serene chapters may have fallen a bit too heavy on the recap. I believe the balance improves as things progress.

It was hard for her to feel the same way when she awoke the next morning. She had intended to wear her traveling suit, but found a new doublet laid out for her.

“A parting gift from your mother, Your Excellency,” said her maidservant. “She said it will bring you good fortune.”

De Sardet smiled, running her hand over the fabric. The coat itself was navy, with red flourishes and gold brocade; a starched white cravat, fine new boots with leaded heels, a pair of leather gloves, and a white silk shirt were all laid out beside it. “That sounds like Mother,” she said. Her mother had always lavished affection on her through finery, gifting her gowns for balls and the embroidered doublets she preferred for less formal occasions. Her smile faded as she thought of their impending goodbye. _I’ll never see her again. How am I supposed to feign cheer, knowing that? How can I leave her at all?_

She dressed, then went to Sir de Cortone. She couldn’t help but feel impatient as she leaned on the chair, obeying his instructions as he ordered her to tilt her head this way and that. “Just a few more minutes,” he said as de Sardet began to squirm, wondering what time it was. “You have such an incredibly singular face! That’s a compliment, my lady, from my mouth! Your particularity gives you character,” he said, and de Sardet couldn’t help but feel that it was hardly a compliment, given that when most people referred to the ‘particularity’ of her face, they were referring to her birthmark. 

_How many times have I heard someone remark on it? No one has ever said it was anything but an unfortunate accident. Certainly, no one has ever thought it made me beautiful._ Her aunt had been particularly cruel, though the worst cruelty of all had come from her first and only lover. _I should have realized far sooner that he had no regard for me._ Luc de Papillon had gone so far as to prefer to make love in positions that hadn’t required him to look at her face. _I was fifteen, and I thought he loved me. He said he loved me. I was a fool._ She hadn’t yet learned not to trust the courtiers of Serene.

_That was a long time ago._ Her mother had taught her never to be ashamed of her birthmark; when, battered by the caustic remarks of her childhood rival, Lady Isabelle, she had suggested to Jeanne de Sardet that she might try to find some potion that would erase it from her skin, or perhaps some powder that would cover it, her mother had refused.

“You’re lovely just the way you are,” Jeanne de Sardet had told her. “You are my beautiful daughter, and anyone who can’t see that isn’t worthy of your company.” She had then commissioned a portrait of her daughter to celebrate her sixteenth birthday: it had depicted her from the waist up, and had showed her face in full instead of in profile, with no attempt at concealing the mark.

_Mother always told me I was beautiful. She said I looked so much like my father, who she always said was handsome._ The portraits of Alexandre de Sardet that she had seen bore that out: the late Prince de Sardet had been a handsome man, with vivid blue eyes the same shade as his daughter’s. _My father, who perished while on an expedition to this very island._ She wondered how her mother could bear to let her go, and if she worried for her safety. _If she does, she hides it well._ In recent weeks, Jeanne de Sardet had grown increasingly insistent that she leave for Teer Fradee.

She was distracted by the opening door. “Are you still here?” Sir de Courcillon burst into the room.

De Sardet wondered how late it was. “We have nearly finished,” she said quickly. “Have you any more need of me, master?”

“You haven’t forgotten we’re setting sail today, have you?”

De Sardet gave him an odd look. “Of course not.” De Courcillon gestured, and she followed him to the door, out of earshot of Sir de Cortone.

As soon as he spoke, she realized why he had wanted to draw her away. “Your cousin is nowhere to be found,” he said; he kept his tone low, but was clearly distressed. “I’ve searched the palace from cellars to attics, your uncle is beside himself…”

De Sardet could only imagine. _If he thinks Constantin is hiding to avoid leaving…_ She knew that Constantin had reconciled himself to their departure; he had been looking forward to it for weeks.

She sighed, thinking of her cousin’s enthusiasm. “He was of a mind to paint the town last night,” she said, making sure to keep her tone equally low; de Cortone was an inveterate gossip, and she hardly wanted him to spread rumors of either Constantin’s sudden disappearance or his final night of debauchery in Serene.

“Don’t worry, I shall track him down,” she promised de Courcillon. “Make care to your own preparations without wrinkling another frown. We’ll meet you on the boat!”

“It’s about time your cousin took account of the responsibilities awaiting him,” de Courcillon replied, exasperated. “He should go inform the ambassadors of Theleme and the Bridge Alliance of his departure!”

Inwardly, de Sardet sighed. _Another errand._ “Have no fear, master, I will go see them in his name.” She started out the door, but caught herself and turned, bowing to the artist. “I beg your pardon, but urgent matters call me away…might we finish all of this later?”

“Impossible, my lady, you are leaving with the tide if what I have been told is correct…”

She had meant it as a polite nothing. Managing an apologetic smile, she said, “I am sorry, sir, truly…I must be going…”

“My lady, please! I beg you! Her Highness has personally requested that I finish this portrait…”

She closed the door on his entreaties. “Thank you, cousin, for getting me out of that,” she breathed, leaning for a moment with her back against the door. She half-expected de Cortone to chase her out into the hallway, but he didn’t pursue her; instead, she heard his mutterings about the inconstancy of women and the tragic lot of the overworked artist, and then his footsteps as he retreated back to his canvas.

_Now what have you gotten yourself into, Constantin?_ De Sardet sighed as she mentally added that item to her list of things to take care of before departure. _Say goodbye to my mother, meet up with Kurt, inform Ambassador Sahin and Cardinal Antonius of Constantin’s departure, retrieve Constantin from the tavern or the brothel, whichever he’s found himself in this time…_

“Hey, Green Blood!” Kurt’s voice drew her from her thoughts as she moved across the courtyard, and belatedly, she remembered that Kurt had said he wanted to practice with her in the courtyard before they left.

“Kurt!” She looked up to see him holding a practice sword, a blunted version of the enormous two-handed sword he preferred, and responded by concentrating on her magic; swirls of light burst into existence around her hands.

“And so the day has come,” Kurt said, his voice laden with dry humor. “My royal fledglings are leaving the nest.”

“Accompanied by their most loyal and tenacious master-at-arms.”

“As loyal as your gold,” he rejoined, circling her.

“Enough with the cold mercenary! I know you like us.” She was distracted by the sight of a contingent of Coin Guard assembling in the yard, a nobleman at their head. “Still hiding your men in the unsuspecting shadows of the greats of this world, I see.”

“Hey! Our blades are the only things keeping you dainties alive.”

De Sardet laughed. “Kurt! I’m not in need of your protection. I’m no longer a child, you know?” Kurt had protected her since she was ten years old, and sometimes, she thought he still acted as if she was that child of ten, instead of a woman who would be twenty-five years old by the time she landed on the shores of Teer Fradee.

“Is that so?” Kurt said, giving her a look that suggested he thought she was overestimating her abilities. “Let’s see.” He put his sword up into an attack position. “Fight with honor!”

She knew how much she had to do, but humored him anyway. Kurt wasn’t going easy on her, and she had to concentrate on the fight, not wanting to hear his disappointment if she lost. _He’ll be sarcastic about it, but he’ll be unhappy if I don’t do well._ She knew that Kurt took pride in how well he’d trained both her and Constantin; he was fond of commenting disparagingly on how many nobles in the Congregation were afraid of a few bruises, and that most of the fine ladies of the Congregation in particular weren’t nearly well-trained enough.

As the sparring session progressed, she found that she actually welcomed it; while focused on dodging Kurt’s attacks or landing shadow bursts of her own, she couldn’t think about the impending farewell to her mother, her worries about Constantin, or the long voyage that was to come. All that mattered were the steps, the movement and the moment, attack and defense.

At last, she slipped a burst of shadow in between Kurt’s defenses; it struck him on the shoulder, sending him stumbling. He took a few steps before recovering himself, rubbing at his shoulder.

De Sardet took a step forward in concern, hoping she hadn’t hurt him, but saw him straighten before she could speak. “You defend yourself well, Green Blood!” he said, and she could tell he was pleased. “One might think you had a proper master-at-arms.”

“The best,” she said, smiling.

“You already training for your new post of legate? Don’t tire yourself. Flattery will get you nowhere. But for the fight, you have remembered your basics. Your performance just got yourself out of a final lesson…unless you want to go through the paces again before we depart?”

Part of de Sardet would have welcomed a longer fight. _Spending time with Kurt will be far more pleasant than speaking with either of the ambassadors, and it would be nice to be able to stop thinking about my duties._ But she knew it would take time she could hardly afford. “No, thanks all the same…I have quite a few tasks to check off my list before we depart.”

“And here you are already assuming your political functions…and in a hurry, always too busy!” He went on, talking about finding opportunities to practice on the island, but de Sardet was half-distracted, her thoughts already on those “political functions.”

“You’ll always find a training partner to give you a friendly fight,” he promised her, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll remember that, thanks.” She paused, remembering their conversation from the night before. “Are your bags packed for the great departure?"

“Yes, you know I get by with very little. You’re not angry I’m coming with you, I hope?”

The way he spoke made her wonder if Constantin had said something. _He’s talked so much about freedom, I could easily imagine that he said something to Kurt._ She knew that Constantin wasn’t entirely pleased that Sir de Courcillon was coming with them; he was their former tutor, but he had been hired for that role by Constantin’s father, and she knew Constantin thought that the Prince d’Orsay had tasked de Courcillon with spying on him.

But she was truly happy that both Kurt and de Courcillon were coming, and had no qualms about telling him. “On the contrary! I am thrilled that both you and Sir de Courcillon are joining our party. A few friends at your side in unknown territory is a boon.”

“Don’t tell me the old school teacher is competing against me!” Before de Sardet could respond, he added, “By the way, where is our future governor hiding? I was hoping to put his skills to the test as well…”

“I’ve no idea,” de Sardet admitted. “He had plans to celebrate his departure last night, and we haven’t seen him since. You know Constantin!” She sighed. _He must have given Kurt’s guards the slip. I should have known he would._ “I should have gone with him, but my heart wasn’t in the mood for celebration…the thought of bidding my mother farewell…”

At the thought of her mother, she felt a fresh stab of grief; all the emotions she’d been trying to ignore while posing for de Cortone and fighting with Kurt came rushing back, and her voice trailed off.

Kurt’s voice softened in sympathy. “It is never easy to say goodbye,” he said. “But you should be going to see her now; she must be waiting for you. I’ll meet you in front of the palace. Then we’ll go and find Constantin together.”

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’ve said my goodbyes.”

It was still difficult for her to walk to her mother’s quarters alone, and more difficult still when she heard her mother calling out, “What is this? Have you not been taught to knock? I’ve asked a thousand times…”

De Sardet slipped her hand into her mother’s, kneeling at her side, and Jeanne de Sardet relaxed immediately. “Oh, it’s you, my dear child.”

In recent days, the Princess de Sardet’s condition had worsened dramatically; she had indeed lost the ability to rise from her chair, and her vision was entirely gone. Moreover, her pain had increased; she now had more bad days than good, and on her bad days had taken to refusing her daughter admittance into her quarters. “I do not want you to remember me this way,” she had told her on one of the now-rare days that Alexandra had been permitted to enter.

From the way her mother trembled, de Sardet thought that the day must be one of her bad days, but she could not leave without saying goodbye. “Mother, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m having trouble getting used to your condition.”

Her mother leaned forward, placing a hand beneath her chin, touching her face. “Come now, let’s speak of more pleasant things…I’m very happy to hear your voice.”

 _Hear my voice. She can’t see me._ De Sardet blinked back tears.

“You remind me so much of your father.” She sighed. “I do miss him so…”

De Sardet released her mother’s hand, walking to the window, and her mother attempted to put a note of cheer into her tone. “Today is the big day, isn’t it? Ready to set sail for that island everyone is talking about.”

De Sardet nodded. “Yes, but the idea of leaving you here…alone and ill…”

“Dying, my child. Alas, there is nothing you could do by staying that would ease my suffering.” They had spoken the words a hundred times before, but they were somehow harder to hear now.

 _It will be the last time I hear her say them. The last time I see her, the last time I hear her voice. She is dying; I am leaving her here, alone and ill._ Until this moment, Alexandra de Sardet had hoped that something might occur to delay her departure: a storm might keep the Naut ships moored in the harbor, her uncle might relent. _I am leaving her here to die, and nothing will change that._

“One thing brings me cheer,” her mother said. “They say the island is full of miracles, and we might find a cure.”

De Sardet turned. “Even if I was to find it, I would never be able to return in time—”

“I know. But it brings me comfort to find that my daughter has left on a mission to heal her people.” Jeanne de Sardet didn’t wait for a response. “Come now. It is time for you to take leave. Here, take this with you.”

“What is it?” de Sardet asked as her mother pressed a silver medallion into her palm.

“A family heirloom. Something that…take it and keep it with you. May it bring you good luck!”

De Sardet took it, realizing as she did that it was a necklace unlike any she’d ever seen. It was clearly old, engraved with strange carvings, but the carvings were of no language she had ever seen, if a language indeed it was. _It’s lovely,_ she thought, and tucked it away in her doublet.

She wanted to say so much more, but her throat felt as if it was closing up, and she thought that if she tried, she would break down. _I told myself that I would stay strong for Mother. I wouldn’t go to pieces in front of her, I wouldn’t grieve her while she was still alive and speaking to me._ She knew she could grieve on the ship during the voyage to Teer Fradee, and on the island when the news finally reached her, but she didn’t want to act as if her mother was already dead.

Instead, she leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“All my blessings go with you, my child,” her mother murmured. “Now be off!”

Reluctantly, de Sardet let go of her mother; not wanting to leave, she crossed the room with slow steps, and with a heavy heart left her alone. As she closed the door, she turned and picked up her pace, moving away more quickly, until she was nearly running from the palace.

As she left the palace, she put on her hat; it had been a gift from her uncle, fine leather with an enormous feather. Constantin had told her he envied it; his parents’ gift to him had been a doublet much like the one that de Sardet had received from her own mother. _I believe that Mother got him a fine new leather tricorne, but Constantin never wears hats anyway._

 _Mother,_ she thought despairingly, and for a moment considered returning to her: not because there was anything she had left unsaid, but simply because she could not bear the thought of leaving her. _I will never see her again. I will never hear her voice, never see her face, never hold her hand…_

But she knew she had no choice. _She would tell me herself that I must go. What else can I do?_ She had said everything she wished. _Mother knows I love her, she knows I would rather stay…but she wants me to go._

 _All my blessings go with you, child,_ she heard her mother say once more. She tightened her grip on the medallion, then tucked it away, next to her heart. _And so it is time for me to leave._


	9. Coin Guard Merchandise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long-overdue update for anyone still reading! This is becoming a very long fic; the problem has been that the ending is written (the coup and after), and I'm now left filling in the intermediate portions. The next few chapters may get a bit overly-recappy of the game itself (feedback on that appreciated); it'll perk up by Jonas's quest, I promise, and the voyage aboard the Sea Horse will be entirely original; this chapter in particular was trying to find the balance between expanding the game without doing a play-by-play.

Kurt waited for Alexandra de Sardet by the fountain in front of the Prince’s Palace. _Poor Green Blood,_ he couldn’t help thinking. He’d seen how upset she was at the thought of bidding farewell to her mother, and half-wondered if he ought to have accompanied her.

 _No. That’s something she had to do alone. Everything else, I can help her with, but that…that was always going to be hard._ He hoped that the rest of their tasks would prove to be easier. _I’d hoped we wouldn’t have to track down Constantin before our departure._ The pair of guards he’d assigned to look after his errant charge had reported back to him that morning, shamefacedly admitting that Constantin had given them the slip and that they’d spent the night fruitlessly searching for him.

Kurt had been furious that they hadn’t reported back sooner. “D’Orsay knows he’s gone,” he growled. “He’ll have your hides for this…and mine, if we don’t find him before the tide. He’s supposed to be sailing for Teer Fradee today.”

Kurt himself had been called before the Prince d’Orsay, an austere, frightening man who had fixed Kurt with a piercing stare. “Captain, I have appointed you the captain of my son’s guard on Teer Fradee, and as his master-at-arms and bodyguard, you are doubly responsible for his well-being. Find him and make sure he is aboard the _Sea Horse_ before the tide, or there will be consequences.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt had responded.

“I will speak with the commander himself about the men who were accompanying him; I understand this is not the first time they have failed in their mission.” The Prince d’Orsay spoke in such chilly tones that Kurt didn’t envy Otto and Hans; they might not see the prince directly, but the prince would speak to the commander, and Commander Wilfred was known as a harsh leader who didn’t tolerate failure. 

“I’m sure we’ll find him without difficulty,” Kurt offered. “He’s fond of the tavern, and fonder of the Coin brothel; he’ll have snuck off to one or the other, I’m sure. He’s probably sleeping off the drink now, with or without one of Conrad’s girls at his side.” He knew better than to mention Conrad’s boys; the Prince d’Orsay fiercely disapproved of Constantin’s proclivities for the same sex, and loathed his tendency to consort with the low-class prostitutes of the Coin brothel instead of the higher-class courtesans who served the princes of the Congregation.

As it was, the Prince d’Orsay frowned at Kurt’s mention of the tavern and brothel. “I hope you will see to it that my son does not continue his activities in New Serene.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kurt promised, but had no illusions that he would be successful. _D’Orsay knows that, too._ Augustin d’Orsay had long ago stopped expecting anything from his son, save perhaps disgrace and disappointment.

_I hope this island will help him change for the better. He needs to stop thinking about himself so much._ He felt a wave of anger as he thought of Alexandra de Sardet rebuking herself for not accompanying Constantin the previous night. _She’s leaving her mother forever, and Constantin would rather go out and get drunk than try to comfort her. The Princess de Sardet has been nothing but kind to him. You’d think he’d mourn for her a little._ Jeanne de Sardet had seen long ago that her brother and his wife had failed to give Constantin the love he desired, and had tried to give Constantin some of the affection that he so clearly wanted.

_She never loved him the same as Green Blood, but she cared for him more than either of his parents ever did._ Jeanne de Sardet had attempted to provide motherly affection for Constantin, as well as a measure of fairness and discipline that was of a kinder sort than Augustin d’Orsay’s harshness or Heloise d’Orsay’s neglect, but Constantin had never warmed to his aunt. _I think he saw what Green Blood had with her, and wanted that with his own parents._ While Jeanne de Sardet had tried to provide some affection for Constantin, she lavished her love on her daughter, and the two were closer than any mother and daughter that Kurt had seen in all his years in the Congregation. _Half the nobles here only had children to carry on their bloodline, but the Princess de Sardet loved her daughter more than anything – more than her wealth, her title, or her position. She would have cut off her right arm for her little girl._

Now, she was sending her away because she knew it was what was best for her. _This way, Green Blood won’t have to stay to watch her die._

The Princess de Sardet had called him to her that morning, just after his meeting with the Prince d’Orsay, while her daughter had still been sitting for her portrait with Sir de Cortone. The meeting had been brief; the princess lacked the strength for anything more. “Captain Kurt,” she said painfully, leaning forward in her chair, “do you remember your promise?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Take care of her.”

“I will,” he’d promised, and Jeanne de Sardet had relaxed, a faint smile touching her lips.

“Good,” she had said. “I know you will keep your word, Captain.”

As Alexandra de Sardet emerged from the palace, he remembered that promise. _She thinks she can take care of herself,_ he thought, remembering her bravado in the training yard, her insistence that she was no longer a child. She had held her own in the combat, but as Kurt saw her making her way to him, trying valiantly not to cry, he couldn’t help but think that she still needed someone. _Maybe not a master-at-arms,_ he thought. _Maybe she needs a friend._

He dismissed the thought almost immediately; he was a hired guard, while she was a noblewoman. _How could you ever be friends, when she’s so far above you?_ He could protect her, look after her, care for her, but anything more was impossible.

“Kurt,” she said, her voice laden with sorrow. “It’s done.”

“Sorry, Green Blood.” Not wanting her to dwell on it, he peered out over the hills, toward Serene Harbor. “Look! We can see the masts of the ship that will be taking us! This is one sacred adventure we’re embarking on!”

She followed his gaze, looking to the ship down in the harbor. “I hope this island will keep its promises.”

“In order to do that, we’ll have to find Constantin first.” _At least finding him may take her mind off having to leave her mother behind._

“You are right,” de Sardet said, but looked optimistic. “He may already be at the port…he was so eager to leave!”

Kurt hoped she was right, but doubted it. He hesitated, thinking of the other duty he’d been charged with. “This will be quite the chore to finish before our departure. The commander wants to recover some merchandise from our supplier.”

He explained to him what Major Freda had told him that morning: Commander Wilfred, the regional commander for the Congregation, had received a communication from Commander Torsten, the regional commander for Teer Fradee. Apparently, the Coin Guard was having difficulties with the shipment of some merchandise to Teer Fradee, and Torsten had charged him with ensuring that the Guard’s crates reached the island.

_Wilfred’s unhappy I’m leaving, and he’d like to see me fail._ Meanwhile, he got the sense that Torsten wanted to test his loyalties; having spent the last fifteen years at the court of Serene, he was something of an outsider within the Coin Guard. _Never seeing my comrades, never spending any time in the barracks…my whole life in Serene has been spent protecting Green Blood and His Highness._ He didn’t regret that; he’d thwarted more than one assassination attempt, and bore the scars to prove it. _I’d hate to think of what would have happened if a less attentive guard had been in my place. This posting has been everything that the Coin Guard is truly about: finding a good cause and serving it loyally, protecting the innocent, fighting with honor._ It had proved far better than the duty he’d had as a city guard, or fighting in the endless wars between the Bridge Alliance and Theleme, both through their proxies and directly.

De Sardet was happy to help, but first, they went to the ambassadors of the Bridge and Theleme, bidding them farewell on Constantin’s behalf. Kurt groaned inwardly as each of the ambassadors requested a particular favor before their departure; de Sardet accepted each of their requests readily, though he could tell she wasn’t pleased, either. _Exposing a charlatan, hunting heretics…_

He especially hated the idea of the latter; he’d served for a time in Theleme, and loathed the inquisitors and their burnings. _What a man believes should be between him and his god._ Kurt wasn’t a religious man, but he believed in a code: acting with honor, protecting the weak and the helpless, doing his duty and keeping his word. _Honor. Loyalty. Justice. Those are things a man can believe in, things that should define who he is. It’s what a man does that should matter, not whether or not he prays to some great god of light in the sky, or whether he thinks one thing or another about some long-dead saint, or if he writes something that some cardinal doesn’t like._

“So, which of these errands do you want to do first, Green Blood?”

“Neither,” she said; worry clouded her face. “I’d hoped we could visit the docks first.”

“Constantin may already be there, waiting for us,” he said, though he didn’t believe it. _He gave his guards the slip; like as not, he’s sleeping off a hangover in some rented room, or visiting his favorites at the brothel one last time._ He suspected they would have to track the errant governor down, and wasn’t entirely pleased with him for it. _Otto and Hans will be lucky to keep any sort of posting in the palace, and they’re not likely to keep their rank,_ he thought, though they weren’t officers, and therefore not likely to care.

In truth, he didn’t care much for either man; he barely knew them, and their foolishness in letting Constantin escape them a second time meant they deserved what punishment they got. His unhappiness had its root in seeing Alexandra de Sardet so worried. _She’s cleaning up his messes for him, as always, and carrying out the duties that should have been his._ Constantin should have been the one to make his goodbyes to Cardinal Antonius and Ambassador Sahin, and to perform their errands. _Though he would have been more likely to have told both of them to stuff it, though not exactly in those words._

Constantin would undoubtedly have smiled, bowed, and said some charmingly-phrased regrets about being unable to handle the good ambassadors’ requests, owing to the demands of time and tide. _Green Blood wouldn’t think of it; she’s always eager to help._

He could tell she wanted to believe his words about Constantin waiting for them, but he could also tell she didn’t believe them. “I hope he will be,” she said, but without any belief behind her words. “I haven’t forgotten you, either; we’ll stop at your vendor on the way there.”

“If you’d rather go directly to the docks—”

“It’s on our way.”

“I don’t want to add to your troubles, but I’d appreciate the help,” he said reluctantly. “The commander will have my hide if I don’t get this straightened out.”

He certainly appreciated her help when it came time to face the merchant, a greasy man clad in the garb of the Bridge Alliance, whose face and eyes showed the unmistakable traces of the malichor, though his illness was not as advanced as the Princess de Sardet’s; his face was marred with black veins, his eyes beginning to film over, but he could still see, and was not wracked with the pain that had troubled the princess.

Kurt saw de Sardet flinch almost imperceptibly as she looked at the man; having said goodbye to her mother so recently, he knew that she had to be on her mind. But, as she exchanged pleasantries with him, she showed no outward sign of discomfort; her voice remained steady, even demanding, as she spoke with the agent.

“They are asking that we pay again, despite already having paid,” Kurt explained to de Sardet. 

“It’s just that the price has gone up, I’ve nothing to do with it,” the agent protested. “I am sorry, sir, I’m just an agent, and I’m only obeying orders.” He went on to explain that his master had sensed that the guard who’d placed the order was trying to hide something, and that he believed that the Coin Guard would therefore pay any sum.

“I’ll be damned,” Kurt swore. “And I’m the one they sent to settle the affair!” _It’s a mission set up to fail. The orders to place the shipment will have to have come from Torsten, not Wilfred, but what have I ever done to earn his wrath?_ He’d heard unsavory rumors about Torsten, and Sieglinde had nothing but scorn for him, but he only knew him by reputation. _The last time I saw him, I was a raw recruit._ He didn’t want to think about that; Torsten had been a major, Kurt little more than a child, and Torsten had been visiting a place Kurt wished he had never seen. _He wanted to tour the camp. I doubt he’d even remember I was there._

He shoved the memory aside; the ghost camp was a place he wished he could forget.

The merchant was still blathering on. “Sorry, captain, it’s nothing personal. I’m only following orders.”

“Following orders. Yeah, we hear you. Makes one wonder which of the two of us is a Coin Guard!”

De Sardet and the merchant went back and forth: she suggested they solicit other suppliers; Kurt pointed out that the Guard would, but they had already paid for the merchandise; the agent hemmed and hawed and skirted the issue.

At last, he could stand it no longer. _I did this with him earlier._ While de Sardet had risen at dawn to sit for Sir de Cortone, Kurt had done the same in order to go to the barracks, answering a summons from the commander; a visit to the quartermaster and orders to help with the shipment had been his reward, and he’d spent the earliest hours of the morning making the same arguments with the agent, and getting absolutely nowhere. _This is all more of the same._ “This stubborn fool is pushing me to madness. You understand now why I’m asking for your help?”

De Sardet gave him a slight nod and the smallest of smiles, then turned to the agent, drawing herself up. “I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,” she announced in her most imperious tone. “Perhaps I failed to present myself properly. Lady de Sardet, niece of the Prince d’Orsay and legate of the Congregation of Merchants. During our conversation, you explained to me that your master forced you to commit a crime. That’s regrettable, especially as you will be his accomplice in extortion, theft…you know as well as I do that the Congregation does not tolerate such illegal activities.”

“But I’m only obeying orders,” the man wheedled.

“That is a shame. Well, as orders are the only language you seem to understand, I order you to return the Guard its merchandise, without delay. Unless you’d rather your master is hanged and you finish your days in prison…”

“I…” The man sputtered, but gave in, defeated. “As you request, my lady. I shall go immediately and ask these crates be delivered to the attendant.”

De Sardet fixed him with a haughty look. “Now that’s a wise decision.”

As the man turned and hurried off, Kurt let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you! I was beginning to think this would never end!” He smiled. “You’re certainly honoring your new title! Bravo! The quartermaster must be expecting us…but let’s look to the docks first.”


	10. Meeting Captain Vasco

When de Sardet reached the docks, she was distressed to see that Constantin was nowhere to be found. “Perhaps the ship’s captain will have seen him,” she said hopefully. Seeing a man clad in a captain’s coat, she approached.

“Lively there, lads and lasses! I promised the merchants and their prince we’d be off before the tide.” The man’s voice rang out; he was busy surveying his ship and the bustle of crew surrounding it, his back to them, and didn’t notice de Sardet and Kurt approaching. “You, man, carry that properly!” he said to a man who passed him, several wrapped packages teetering precariously in his arms. “That porcelain is worth more than your life!”

Even as he spoke, the man stumbled, and de Sardet heard a crash-and-break sound as the bundle made contact with the docks. The captain shook his head in disgust, muttering, “There are some children we’d been best to refuse.”

“Captain Vasco,” she called out.

The man turned, confirming that he was who she thought. Seeing him, she was surprised that he was so young; she’d been expecting someone far older, but the man before her looked about her age, if not younger. He had light brown hair and a striking face: strongly carved cheekbones, a straight nose, and sharply defined jawline and chin, all covered in the characteristic tattoos of the Nauts. “And you are…?” he asked, eyeing her.

“I’m de Sardet, the prince’s niece,” she said, extending a hand. As Captain Vasco clasped it, she said, “If all is in order, we will soon be embarking on your boat.”

She knew immediately that she’d said something wrong; his eyes narrowed, and the tone of his voice made it clear he’d taken offense. “It’s a _ship_ , not a _boat_ ,” he said.

“Apologies,” she said.

“Apologies for my asking, but the young governor isn’t with you.”

“He didn’t come home this morning. I need to find him before departure.”

“I hope nothing’s happened to him or he hasn’t changed his mind. The tide does not wait.” There was a certain brusqueness to the captain’s voice that made de Sardet think he was still offended.

_What did I say?_ She had no idea what the difference between a ship and a boat was, but clearly it was important to the Naut captain. _I certainly hope that Constantin hasn’t changed his mind, either. He’s been looking forward to this for months._ His initial anger at being exiled had changed into enthusiasm for a grand adventure, only occasionally dampened by darker emotions.

“Perhaps he simply celebrated his imminent departure with a little too much enthusiasm,” she said, hoping it was true.

Vasco went on to tell her that they were missing his cabin boy: the youngest and newest member of his crew, unimportant to the ship’s operations, but clearly important to him.

“He must have simply had a bit too much to drink in celebrating his departure, like another I know,” said de Sardet, thinking of her cousin.

But Vasco denied that; Jonas had been missing for two days, and while his men had free shore leave until the day of departure, he doubted that he was the sort to enjoy his drink. “If you hear anything of him, I’d appreciate it if you could report it to me. I’d like to set sail with a clear mind,” he said, and she was touched by his concern.

“I’ll do what I can,” she promised, and saw Kurt mentally add another item to their list to check off before departure. She questioned him a little, hoping to find out more about where the boy might have gone, and was glad that the captain answered all her questions patiently; he seemed surprised that she was so interested, and that she genuinely intended to help.

_We’ll need to find him, as well._ She hoped to find Constantin first, but she promised herself she would do everything she could to find the cabin boy as well. _I doubt Captain Vasco would be very pleased with us if we retrieved my cousin but failed to find his crewman._

_Speaking of Constantin…_ “You haven’t heard anything about my cousin by chance, have you?” she asked. “To be honest, we were hoping to find him here.”

“Did you say he was intending on celebrating his departure? My men spoke of a rather…animated party that went down at the Coin Tavern.”

“That…isn’t the safest place in the city,” Kurt said, folding his arms across his chest. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be there,” said de Sardet, convinced she spoke the truth. _It will be as it always has been. Constantin will be ensconced in some garret upstairs, sleeping off his drink, or perhaps in the basement, in the gambling rooms or the Coin brothel, abed with a few of the prostitutes. He’ll be embarrassed that I’ve come to find him, but he’ll gather up his clothes, kiss all his bedmates goodbye, and we’ll be off. He may complain of a headache or ask Kurt for some resuscitation powder or an antidote, but he’ll be well again soon enough._

She paused, thinking of one last matter. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone wandering about? Suspicious looking, maybe clandestine passengers?”

“Take a look around! There are far too many comings and goings to spot possible stowaways.” He swept a hand around, gesturing to the bustle of the port. “As long as they don’t try to get on my ship, I pay no attention to them. That said, we did catch ourselves a smuggler just a while ago.”

“A smuggler? Maybe he could be of some use,” said de Sardet. “Where could I find him?”

“In the port jails, not far from the warehouses.” His brow furrowed, and she saw another suspicious look flit across his face. “Might I ask you why the sudden interest in smugglers and the odd stowaway?”

De Sardet regarded the captain, hoping she could trust him. At court, she might have deflected the question; she’d learned years ago that trusting strangers only caused pain and regret. It was hard for her; she had a trusting nature, and though she was reserved by nature, she also preferred to be honest.

_He is not of the Congregation,_ she reminded herself, _or involved in politics. And perhaps he can help._ “A couple of heretics are planning on leaving Serene,” she offered. “The ambassador of Theleme has entrusted me with the job of capturing them.”

Vasco looked surprised. “Happy to see that you trust me enough to seek my counsel in the affair. It just so happens that I heard someone talking about the couple. The cardinal’s men are far from discreet. They were making quite some ruckus, asking to search our warehouses. We of course refused entry; only the Nauts have access. I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I’m sure your potential stowaways aren’t far…but we won’t allow you to make a search to grab them. Not officially, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

Vasco gave her a knowing look. “That discretion and malice are often more useful than titles and words.”

“Though I’m sure you’ll disavow all knowledge of this conversation if we’re caught.”

“If you’re caught, I would suspect the admiral would not be pleased…though whether or not he would be displeased enough to deny you passage aboard one of our ships is another story.” Vasco paused, then looked back to de Sardet. “If you would satisfy my curiosity, Your Excellency?”

“About what?”

“Why are you pursuing these heretics? The Congregation offers freedom of worship, does it not? I am aware that some nobles of the Congregation are of the luminous faith; are you one of them?”

“While there are those in the Congregation who do worship the Enlightened, I am not among them,” de Sardet replied. Thoughts of faith made her sad: while she had always believed in some form of divinity, that faith had been sorely tested by her mother’s illness. _I still believe that there must be more to this world than the cold logic and rationality of the Bridge Alliance, but I do not believe in a divinity that would have one man condemn another to the pyre over a difference of belief…and there are days I admit I find it difficult to maintain belief in a divinity who would condemn my mother to such suffering._ She would hardly say that to a Naut captain who disdained her, however. _My faith is my own, and no one else’s concern._

“Then why?” Vasco pressed. “I would assume you do it to curry favor with the ambassador, but you are leaving these shores, and I would not go so far as to assume that the cardinal’s memory is long enough to remember such a favor upon your return. Unless you believe it will be a favor to his superiors?”

“Not at all,” said de Sardet. “But in my cousin’s absence, I am the diplomatic representative of the Merchant Congregation, and as such am obligated to please our allies. Cardinal Antonius wishes a representative of the Congregation to look into this matter, and so I must, or risk his displeasure – not only with myself, but with the Congregation as a whole.” She paused. “In truth, this ought to have been Constantin’s task…but as he is missing, I must do what I can in his place. I would not have word of his failure reaching my uncle.”

“And so you would condemn living men to a pyre to protect your cousin?” 

Kurt leapt to her protection. “She isn’t burning anyone, sailor.”

“If she turns them over to the ambassador, they are as good as dead. Her hand may not be the one that lights the match, but would you not consider her responsible?”

“I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do,” said de Sardet. “These heretics may already have departed. Even if I do find them, I would not turn them over to the Cardinal Ambassador blindly. I know the punishments for heresy in Theleme, and I do not agree with them.”

“I see,” Vasco said carefully, though she wasn’t sure if he did; she got the feeling that he was not entirely satisfied with her reply.

_Is there anything I could say that would please him?_ Aloud, she said only, “Thank you, Captain.”

“Happy to be of some help,” he replied. With that, Vasco turned his attention to his ship, and de Sardet and Kurt started back into Serene.

“I don’t think he likes me,” said de Sardet.

“And why wouldn’t he? You are the perfect diplomat, charming everyone you meet.”

“Kurt, don’t mock me,” she said; looking over to him, he was doing his best to keep a straight face, but she saw amusement curling the corners of his mouth.

“Me? Never,” he said. “I promise you, you are the very image of a legate of the Congregation.”

“I think it had something to do with what I said about his ship?”

“You mean his boat?”

“Kurt,” she said; he could no longer keep a straight face, grinning. “What’s the difference? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, “but clearly, it made a great deal of difference to him. Must be a Naut thing.”

“We’re going to spend the next three months with him.”

“Three and a half, if the winds are slow,” said Kurt. “That’s what I’ve heard for the journey out: three to three and a half months to get there, and three and a half to four to come home.”

“I don’t want him to hate me. The ship isn’t that large, and I can’t spend the entire voyage hiding in my cabin.”

“I’m sure he won’t hate you, Green Blood. Especially if you find his cabin boy…which I’m sure you’re planning to do, knowing you. Are we going to find this Flavia and Lauro first, are we going to go to the tavern, or are we going to go sneaking around the warehouses to try to find this smuggler?”

“We are already on the docks,” she pointed out, “and it seems to me that sneaking into the warehouses will take some preparation.” De Sardet paused, troubled by Vasco’s inquiries. “Do you think we should look into this matter with the heretics?”

“It isn’t up to me, Green Blood. It seems to me you’ve already taken on the task.” He paused. “If you do wish to find them, we will need to have a word with that people smuggler the sailor mentioned.”

“He’s not a sailor, Kurt, he’s a captain, like yourself. And in order to have a word with that smuggler, we’ll need to find a way into that jail.” She sighed. “Though, in truth, I wonder if I wish to find them at all. I know that I promised the Cardinal Ambassador I would, but Captain Vasco is right,” she said. “If I do find them, Cardinal Antonius will return them to Theleme for burning, and it will be my fault.”

“I served in Theleme, before I came to the Congregation,” said Kurt. “How I hated those burnings! What a man believes should be between himself and his god. There’s no reason for those priests to go poking their noses into it.”

De Sardet looked to him in surprise: Kurt rarely spoke of his life before the Congregation. She knew that he had fought in the wars between the Bridge Alliance and Theleme, and that he had known war by the time he was fifteen, but she had never heard him speak so vehemently about Theleme’s practices.

Kurt realized it, too; he looked abashed, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. “But orders are orders,” he said. “If that’s what you’re set on, I know how to put my head down and obey.”

“No,” de Sardet answered, startled. “I’m not going to turn men over to be burned so readily. Not without finding out more about their supposed crimes.” She gave a slight shake of her head, then said finally, “Even if it means Constantin gets in trouble for it. I’ll write my uncle and tell him I was to blame, but I cannot be responsible for lighting the pyre of living men who have only sought the freedom of worship we have here in the Congregation. Constantin will understand.”

“Will he?” Kurt’s eyebrows arched, and his disbelieving tone reminded her of his response in the courtyard that morning, when she’d told him she was no longer a child, but a grown woman capable of defending herself.

“How could he not? His father’s anger is a small price to pay for saving innocent lives…if indeed they are innocent,” de Sardet admitted. “I do wish to make sure that they are not guilty of other crimes. The cardinal’s wrath seems rather severe for a mere difference of opinion.”

“You should know that in Theleme, there isn’t any such thing,’” Kurt replied. “Those priests take their opinions seriously. They burn as many men for heresy as the malichor.”

De Sardet thought of the pyre in the Prince’s Place. “That is terrifying,” she admitted. “But the matter will have to wait, at least for a little while; we have no way to disguise ourselves as Nauts at present, and, as Captain Vasco says, discretion and guile will be essential.”

“Disguises? Do you think we can really pass ourselves off as Nauts?” Kurt asked.

“I know my birthmark will make it difficult, but if we can get Naut coats, I can pull my collar up and my hat down. Perhaps we can even make a semblance of tattoos using ink.”

“And you think it will be easy to find a sailor’s coat to fit me?” Kurt was a few inches over six feet tall, and de Sardet thought that he might well be two hundred pounds of solid muscle, broad-chested and broad-shouldered.

“We’ll look at the merchant’s stall. Even if there isn’t a coat to fit you, there should certainly be a sailor’s vest of some sort. We’ll only need to slip into the jail for a few moments.”

“You’re the legate,” Kurt said, but she heard his skepticism.

“First things first,” she answered, looking across the docks, to where Vasco’s crew was busily loading crates and stowing cargo. They found Flavia and Lauro easily enough; she took the opportunity to question both about Captain Vasco, hoping to find out more about him.

“Is there somewhere we can go that’s out of the way?” Flavia asked. “I don’t want to be heard gossiping about the captain out in the open, like.”

“Aye, and if the rest of the crew hears what I have to say about Jonas, they’ll think I’ve been hitting the bottle again,” Lauro chorused. “Well, more than usual,” he added, seeing the look Flavia gave him. The broken veins on his nose and the redness of his cheeks spoke of his fondness for drink, and de Sardet hoped that he would prove more reliable than his spirit-infused breath suggested.

“Here,” de Sardet suggested, finding an empty, unlocked bunkhouse near the docks. She wasn’t sure if it was a place for Naut guards to sleep or for them to store unwanted cargo, but no one was inside, and neither sailor protested when she pushed open the unlocked door. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering some questions for me…”

She began with general inquiries about Captain Vasco. Both sailors agreed that the captain was a good man and a talented sailor, but seemed united in agreeing that he wasn’t as happy as he ought to be, rarely smiling or laughing. She was surprised to learn that he was younger than she was; Vasco was twenty-four, while de Sardet would be turning twenty-five soon.

“He’s very talented, to have made captain so young,” Flavia told her. “To become a captain before twenty-five is a rare feat; most don’t make rank until after thirty.”

“He wants to rise up the ranks, does our captain,” said Lauro. “I think he’s eager to make fleet commander. Maybe a little too eager, if you get me drift.”

Flavia shot him a look; meanwhile, de Sardet decidedly did not understand what the Naut was implying, though she knew she was missing something. “He’s a good captain,” she said. “He’s so skilled at sailing that I can’t imagine him being anything but a Naut…and I’m sure he can’t, either. Do you know, he’s never lost a man? That’s a rare thing, especially when you’ve made as many crossings as our captain.”

“How many crossings has he made?”

“As captain? When we return to Teer Fradee, it will be his third. He made captain at twenty-two, and we’ve been making cargo runs to and from the island ever since. You’ve no reason to worry, my lady; you’ll be in good hands with the captain.”

De Sardet sighed. _The last thing I need is for this conversation to get back to Captain Vasco. He’ll think I’m questioning his competence._ She changed the subject. “About your missing friend, Jonas…”

As it turned out, the clues surrounding the missing cabin boy pointed to the tavern as well. “Well, we can look for both of them there. Maybe we’ll find them together.”

“I hope not.” Kurt’s brow knit in disapproval. “I thought the Nauts’ cabin boys were kids. It’s the rank they give those too young to be proper recruits.”

“If he was out drinking at a tavern, Jonas can hardly be a child.”

Kurt gave her a doubtful look, but did not contradict her. “However old this Jonas is, I’d wager he’s too young for Constantin. I would hope that we would not find them together…though, knowing Constantin, I would not rule it out entirely.”

De Sardet didn’t like the implied insult to her cousin, but she also had to admit that Kurt might have a point. _If Constantin was drunk and Jonas willing, I doubt he would have asked his age, especially if he found him drinking in the tavern._ “Given that he has been missing for days, I doubt we’ll find them together in any case. But perhaps we’ll find clues that will lead us to both of them in that tavern.”

“Watch yourself, Green Blood. The tavern isn’t in the safest part of the city.”

“Kurt, it’s broad daylight.”

“And both Constantin and this Jonas are missing. I’ll look out for you, but it’s best if we both stay alert.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I know you always do.” She paused. “I know the barracks adjoin the tavern; you ought to stop in and inform your commander that you have solved the problems with the merchandise.”

Kurt nodded. “Thank you for helping me with that. You do have a way with words.” He paused, stooping. “Here,” he said, picking a crumpled scrap of parchment off the floor. “What’s this?” Unfolding the parchment, he read it. “What a stroke of luck! You won’t believe this, Green Blood.” He handed it to de Sardet. “The heretics that Cardinal Antonius wanted us to see to,” she said, frowning. “It sounds like they’re hiding out in one of the warehouses.”

“Which means we’ll certainly have to seek them out there,” she said. “Captain Vasco is right; the Nauts will never allow us to search their warehouses. We’ll have to disguise ourselves if we’re to find them.” She sighed. “But that will have to wait until we have such disguises. There’s a merchant near the barracks, isn’t there? We should inform your commander of our success.”


	11. The Tavern

They stopped first at the barracks, only to discover that Kurt’s commanding officer didn’t make an end of it there: he expected Kurt to somehow transport the merchandise to Teer Fradee. “Captain! You set sail soon, but have you seen to our little business?”

“Yes, we were finally able to recover your merchandise.”

“Excellent news! I’m afraid, though, that your mission isn’t finished, Kurt…”

“Blast me! I’m a captain, not an errand boy,” Kurt swore.

“The commander was quite explicit.”

The quartermaster emphasized the commander’s rank, and Kurt sighed, conceding defeat. “Very well. What do I need to do?”

“The merchandise that you obtained needs to be sent to Teer Fradee as soon as possible. The port authority formalities take an eternity to wade through, and we’ve already lost a great deal of time with this dishonest merchant,” the quartermaster told him.

Kurt was clearly uncomfortable with his orders, and de Sardet tried to intervene. “Are you blatantly asking us to smuggle this merchandise and contraband?”

“I would never ask you to do such a thing, Your Excellency,” the quartermaster replied.

“Ah, but you don’t mind asking that of Kurt,” she said, hearing the implication in the man’s voice.

“Well, now, if he finds a more alternative solution that is less…illegal…that would be fine, the method matters not. But this cargo must reach the isle on the next ship.”

“Marvellous,” Kurt said sarcastically; the quartermaster chose to ignore him.

“Well then, I shall await your return with the utmost impatience. I’m sure you shall do what’s required!”

He sighed as they left the barracks. “I’m sorry, Green Blood, I really am.”

“Do you think that Captain Vasco could help us?”

“Perhaps if we help him with his cabin boy,” Kurt suggested. “But I’d hesitate to ask him otherwise. I doubt he’d want to turn smuggler for the Coin Guard…even with all your charm.”

“You can tell how much I’ve charmed him,” she responded. As they left the barracks, she was distracted by the sound of a man’s voice carrying down the street.

“…the remarkable panacea! Cure for all ills, save the malichor, of course.”

Kurt gave her a look. “Weren’t you supposed to investigate some charlatan for the Bridge Alliance?”

They took a detour; de Sardet challenged the man, and they ended up having to fetch a sample from his wagon, in the process fighting some bandits who seemed to take it as a challenge to their territory. “I hate men like this,” she said, examining the vials. “Offering false cures, false hope…he says it does not work for the malichor, but only because he knows that no one would believe him if he did. But how many ailments has he claimed to cure? How many people has he stolen from, promising a remedy for their pain?” _My poor mother. How many elixirs did the healers give her? She never had even the false hope of a cure._

“Let’s go stop him, Green Blood,” Kurt told her.

But the man fled when confronted, and they ended up pursuing him to the tavern, where they discovered not all was as it seemed: the man was not a charlatan but an alchemist, and his elixir was not a placebo but an experimental medicine he was testing on unwitting subjects.

“I would have thought myself eager to join the mob persecuting him,” de Sardet admitted to Kurt as they descended the stairs, ready to help the man. “But I find I will be responsible for helping him escape.”

She felt worse after having to lie to the crowd, telling them that they needed to disperse to seek out a cure for the charlatan’s poison. _I’m amazed they believed me._ De Sardet knew she was generally a poor liar; her uncle’s court had sharpened her skills, but she was better at evading the truth than outright invention.

“It’s a good thing you’ll be at sea by the time they figure out you lied to them,” Kurt said as the mob ran off in a panic, their attentions turned to saving themselves.

“Do you think the healer they’re going to see will have any idea of what they’re talking about?”

“No, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to take their coin to save them.” A smile tugged at Kurt’s lips. “I didn’t think you had it in you. You were very convincing.”

“I feel awful.”

“Better than you would if they’d dragged that man out of his room and strung him up,” Kurt answered, and somehow those blunt words made her feel better than anything else he might have said. “Lying to a mob to save a man’s life isn’t something you should lose any sleep over. I’ve fought my way out of a mob, and I’d rather not have to do it while worrying about protecting you.”

They said their goodbyes to the alchemist and moved to the tavern, but as soon as she mentioned Constantin’s name, the bartender’s eyes narrowed. “There was indeed a party here last night, but it ended badly. A brawl broke out, my tavern was shattered, and no one has paid for the damages!”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “Among the rabblerousers, did there happen to be a young man…about twenty years of age?” Constantin was twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six, but looked younger. Ash blond hair, longer than his but shorter than mine,” she said, gesturing from Kurt’s hair to her own, “pale gray eyes, quite the talker…”

“I don’t believe it! Of course he was there! He’s the man that started the fight! I hope you’ve come to reimburse me. Don’t count on me to help you if that’s not the case.”

De Sardet sighed. “What kind of damage are we talking about, exactly?”

“A good half of my furniture was broken into firewood. I piled up the lot over there,” he said, pointing to one corner.

“Let me take a look,” de Sardet said, though in truth she had little knowledge of carpentry. “Perhaps it can be repaired…”

“If you can fix it, I’d be obliged. If not, you’ll need to pay!”

She sighed again as she looked at the heap of wood. “I’d hardly know where to start,” she admitted to Kurt, “and yet I do not know if I can afford the man’s price. I could always return to the palace, but that would take time, and I would have to explain to his father what he did, and that he’s still missing…”

“There’s no need, Green Blood. I can fix this.”

De Sardet startled. “You can?”

Kurt nodded. “No need to fret. It’s not hard. We’ll need some metal dowels, but I’m sure Geoffrey has some around here.”

He was right: the tavern-keeper supplied the materials, and Kurt got to work. “I didn’t know you were so skilled,” she said.

“I’ve done plenty of this kind of work. In an army camp, the best furniture you’re going to get is whatever you build for yourself. I can fix a broken wagon wheel, do a bit of smithing, repair whatever it is needs fixing. Nothing fancy, but work like this, it’s easy enough. It won’t even take long. Here, hold this.” He showed her how to make the repair. “Now you try.”

He was, she realized, teaching her, the way he would have with a sword in the yard. “Careful, you don’t want to smash your thumb with that hammer.” And he smiled at her when she finished the repair. “Good work, that.”

She returned his smile. “Good enough to find Constantin, do you think?”

It was good enough for Geoffrey; he stared at it in amazement. “Good as new,” Kurt told him. “Now pay up. Where’s my lady’s cousin?”

Geoffrey related all the details: a raucous party, Constantin insulting a group of bandits, the bandits taking offense. “They’re not tender sorts,” he warned them.

“We’ll handle them,” Kurt answered. De Sardet was ready to run out the door, but he stopped her. “While we’re here, shouldn’t we look into what’s happened to the Naut boy? Constantin isn’t the only one missing.”

De Sardet knew he was right, and Geoffrey was glad to point them toward a gambler who had been present for the abduction. The man’s eyes were filmed from malichor, but he claimed to have witnessed the events: a rich moneylender and some hired thugs confronting the boy, who’d left with them, but not in an overly violent manner.

“Who was the rich merchant, do you think? A jilted lover? A moneylender?”

“No, madam. It happens you are in luck; it so happens that I know the man! It was Sir Fontaine, the merchant.” He was even able to point them to the Fontaine house, near Theleme’s embassy.

“Do you think he can be trusted?” Kurt asked as they left the tavern.

“Why would he lie?”

“I don’t know, but what would any merchant gain from holding a penniless child?” Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “Cabin boys are young, Green Blood, about the same age as our recruits…and sometimes younger. I’ve sailed on a Naut ship before, and the youngest cabin boy I met was twelve. He was new to his post, and excited to talk about it; he said that cabin boys only stay that way until they finish their training, a few years at most. I’d be surprised if Jonas was much past fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” Lauro was easily twice that age, while de Sardet put Flavia at about twenty. _I was expecting a young man about Flavia’s age, perhaps a year or two younger._ “But he was drinking at the tavern, and gambling, and…”

“I did much the same at his age,” Kurt said. “It’s not unusual for a new recruit to want to enjoy themselves on leave.” He hesitated. “You know Constantin wasn’t much older when he started sneaking down here.”

“I know,” de Sardet paused. “But I did not imagine that Jonas would be so young. I know you said you thought he would be, but…” _I did not want to believe it, when I thought I might find him with Constantin._ She had let herself imagine Jonas as a youth of eighteen or nineteen, a young man capable of looking out for himself, not a boy who was fifteen or younger. _Flavia did say he only sips at his pint. If he’s a boy of thirteen or fourteen, tagging along with the older crew…_ She looked down. “I am ashamed of suggesting that Sir Fontaine might have been a spurned lover.”

“You didn’t know,” Kurt said.

A worse thought struck her. “What if I’m right? Not that they would be lovers, exactly, or that Jonas would have been willing, but…powerful men may do terrible things, especially to those who lack power of their own. If he thought that no one would miss him…”

Kurt didn’t respond at first, and she looked up to see that he looked unusually distressed at the thought: his face had blanched, his hands were clenched into fists, and his shoulders had tensed.

When he realized she was looking at him, he let out a breath. “You’re right, Green Blood. Powerful men can do ugly things, if there’s no one to stop them. What do you know of Fontaine? Is he the sort?”

“I don’t know,” de Sardet answered, troubled by that lack of knowledge. “Sir Fontaine is of a merchant family; he is sometimes seen at my uncle’s court, along with his wife, but while they are quite rich, they are not of the old nobility. I believe he has made his fortune in trading with the Bridge Alliance, but neither my mother nor my uncle have ever had much to do with him.” She racked her memory. “Sir Victor and Lady Marie-Claudette Fontaine,” she said finally. “They are older; I believe Lady Fontaine is past fifty, and Sir Fontaine is older still. I have heard he is a harsh man, and cutthroat in his business practices, while his wife is the model of politeness, from an impoverished family of the old nobility. I believe she was born Lady de Vere.”

“Do they have children?”

“No,” de Sardet said. “Not to my knowledge, at least.” She searched her memory. “I think that my mother once spoke of sympathizing with Lady Fontaine. My own mother had great difficulty conceiving, and I believe the same may have been true of Lady Fontaine.” Speaking of her mother made her throat close; for a moment, all she could think was of how she was abandoning her.

It was a long moment before she could speak. “I’m afraid that’s all I know,” she managed.

When she looked up, she saw the sympathy in Kurt’s eyes. He didn’t say anything directly, but his tone was gentler than usual as he said, “It’s enough to start with, Green Blood. Did you want to seek out Constantin first, or this cabin boy?”

De Sardet sighed. From what Geoffrey had said, she knew that Constantin might well be in trouble; picking a fight with brigands from the lower boroughs could not have ended well, and the fact that he was still missing troubled her. _But Constantin is a grown man, and the only son of the Prince d’Orsay._ If Kurt had not told her Jonas’s age, she would have gone to him immediately, but the gambler’s description of the rich merchant surrounded by hired thugs and the memory of Flavia and Lauro’s concern gave her pause.

“If Constantin has been kidnapped by brigands, they will know that he’s wealthy,” she said slowly. “I would like to drop everything and rush to his rescue, but…Jonas is only a boy. And if Sir Fontaine has taken him for some unsavory purpose…” 

“If he has, we’ll see that he pays.” Kurt’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his voice rough, and de Sardet was startled by the force of his anger. Seeing her stare, Kurt added, “He’s just a kid.”

“If Sir Fontaine has done anything of the sort, I promise you, we’ll see that he faces justice. We’ll see to this immediately. I’m sure Constantin would understand.”

They made their way to the Fontaine house, where a servant directed them upstairs. Sir Fontaine was not at home, a fact that worried de Sardet, but Lady Fontaine saw them immediately.

Marie-Claudette Fontaine was an elegant woman, with gray hair she kept hidden beneath a hood that had gone out of fashion more than thirty years past, and a similarly old-fashioned dress whose vibrant magenta dye and white lace spoke of wealth.

“I’ve seen you at court,” she said, executing a perfect curtsey. “You are Lady de Sardet. To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Your Excellency?”

“I’m afraid you have been misled. You seem to have come to the wrong conclusion. The cabin boy you speak of has not been taken,” Lady Fontaine protested. “He has simply returned home.”

De Sardet had not been expecting that. “Excuse me, but I’m not sure I understand,” she protested, as politely as she could. 

“Don’t you see, Your Excellency? We got our son back!”

“I am very surprised. Several witnesses confirm that your…son…had a fight with your husband, and that his men escorted him from the tavern using force. If he had joined your husband willingly…”

Delicate gray brows rose halfway up a broad forehead, and vibrantly green eyes narrowed in indignation. “Witnesses? In a _tavern_? And you choose to believe these drunkards over a respectable family?”

De Sardet hardly knew what to believe. “These witnesses are all in agreement, and it is their testimony that has led me to your doorstep.”

“My son was probably shocked to have found us. My husband and his men might simply have had to carry him, a gesture that your drunkards must have misunderstood.”

“What was your son doing on a Naut ship? Why would they have taken him?”

“It is what they do! Through pacts and contracts they steal away young children from their mothers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I would have thought that a legate would know these things. But it is true you are young and inexperienced. It seems you have been protected from the turpitudes of our own nation and its terrible allies! This horrible constant ransoming that they put us through…you will have no trouble verifying the details now that you know what to look for.”

“How did you find your son’s trail?”

“We have never stopped looking for him! First we learned the name they gave him, Jonas…my poor little Celestin! Then we learned the name of the ship he sailed on. No sooner than it had docked in Serene than my husband had the crew watched closely…and we found him!”

“Where is he now?”

“I cannot say, Your Excellency. Until the Nauts set sail, we live in fear they will take him back from us.”

 _Surely that would not stop them,_ de Sardet wanted to say. _There is always a Naut presence in the harbor. We have given them free rein over the harbor; they have a larger presence in Serene than anywhere else on the continent._ That reflected the historical alliance between the Nauts and the Congregation; the alliance had grown weaker in recent decades, but it had lasted for centuries, and the Merchant Congregation and the sailors’ guild had risen to power entwined with one another.

“This pact…it sounds like some fear-inducing story,” de Sardet said as they left the Fontaine residence.

Kurt grimaced. “The Nauts wouldn’t be the first to recruit through dubious means,” he admitted. “The Coin Guard will only let a recruit sign up of their own free will once they’re fifteen, but a parent can sign their child over to them at a far younger age. Not only do they get rid of an extra mouth to feed, but certain unscrupulous recruiters have been known to pay the signing bonus to the person signing the contract, not the one serving.”

De Sardet suddenly remembered something Kurt had said the first time they’d met, when he’d introduced himself as her master-at-arms. _He made me and Constantin stand at attention, and he told us that he was going to train us to fight. He said that by the time he was our age, he’d been in the Coin Guard half his life._ At the time, de Sardet had been ten, Constantin eleven; in the years since, she’d assumed his words to be pure exaggeration, but now she had to wonder if he’d been telling the truth.

 _Did his parents sell him to the Coin Guard?_ De Sardet was horrified at the thought. _Was he truly five years old? What would the Coin Guard have done with a child that age?_

“It doesn’t happen as often now, and not with children as young as it used to,” Kurt said. “They stopped that a long time ago…at least in the Congregation,” he said. “I couldn’t say what goes on in the Bridge or Theleme, when they need fresh bodies to fill out a regiment, but the Coin Guard should know now that recruiting kids is a bad idea. Growing up without a family, given a sword as soon as you can hold one…it’s no life for a kid,” he said finally. “You grow up too fast. Being a soldier’s a good path for a man who knows who he is and wants to make his way in life, but when you’re that young…”

“Children should have a chance to experience childhood,” de Sardet said. “To be children, before anything else is expected of them.” She thought of Constantin, whose father had always expected the world of him. _He was a disappointment before he was old enough to understand why._ “A child should know what it is to be safe, loved, cared for…and it seems to me that life as a soldier would grant neither stability nor safety.” 

“Certainly not. I don’t think I ever knew what it was to be safe,” Kurt said. “If you get hurt, there’s no one to fawn over your bruises, only instructors who tell you to get up because pain is the best teacher…and a broken bone or a cut that scars is a better reminder not to do it again.” He grimaced, then looked embarrassed, as if he thought he’d said too much.

“You were never that way with me and Constantin,” de Sardet said. “You certainly never fawned over us, but you never hurt us.” He had knocked them down often enough, and practice had often left her with a few scrapes or bruises, her muscles aching and sore, but she knew how strong Kurt was. _He was always so careful._

“I think your mother would have had my head if I had,” Kurt said.

“But you wouldn’t have done it anyway,” she pressed.

“No,” Kurt admitted. “I’d had enough of that kind of training to swear I wouldn’t do it to my own recruits.”

“I would hope you’re happy with the results.”

“Fishing for compliments, Green Blood? You shouldn’t have to ask.” He paused. “Speaking of fishing, do you want to see what information we can get out of the sailor about the Fontaines, or do you think we should try to see what we can do for Constantin?”

“Lady Fontaine seemed sincere,” de Sardet said. She remembered the tears that had come to the other woman’s eyes when she had mentioned her son. “I do not believe Jonas is in any imminent danger, and I think we can safely say that Sir Fontaine did not take him for any nefarious purpose. So…yes, I would like to retrieve Constantin.”

There was enough uncertainty in her voice that Kurt gave her an amused look. “You’re the legate, Green Blood. You don’t have to ask my permission.”

But his tone of voice told her that she had it. _If he thought that Jonas was in danger, I would handle that first, but he believes her too._

"I'm glad to know I have it all the same," she said. "Let's go find him. Shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey's description of Constantin in-game is so hilariously wrong that it makes me wonder if they changed his model (he describes him as about twenty, with long brown hair and blue eyes...where Constantin is canonically 26, and the rest of that description sounds more like Alexandra herself than Constantin!) It's one of the few situations where I've modified in-game dialogue when recapping it; most of the time, I've presented any in-game dialogue completely as-is.


	12. Finding Constantin

They moved toward the lower boroughs, and Kurt put out a hand to stop her as she started to walk into the district, filled with dilapidated warehouses separated by narrow alleyways. The fresh salt air was a memory here; there was the stink of stagnant water and filth, and muck in the gutters. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer, and de Sardet was stricken by how few people there were, not even men and women dying of malichor in the streets, or drunks passed out in the gutter, as there were in the boroughs near the tavern and the makeshift hospital. 

“Careful, Green Blood. Don’t get too far ahead. These streets are dangerous, and there are only two of us.” Kurt moved closer to her side, and insisted on stepping in front of her as they edged ahead, his hand on his blade. De Sardet prepared herself mentally, readying herself to cast a stasis spell at a moment’s notice.

As they moved down the street, de Sardet caught the hint of a familiar voice carried on the breeze. “Wine makes you immortal…wine makes you immortal…”

“Is that Constantin?” she breathed. _I would know his voice anywhere._

“Is he singing?” Kurt demanded.

He was, the words extremely loud and off-key. “…for he who drinks can never decay, and wine still supplies!”

“It’s Constantin,” she said, entirely unnecessarily.

His voice came from an upper window, sounding utterly outraged. “If you had any idea who I am…open up, imbeciles! I have a ship to catch!”

“That’s Constantin, all right,” Kurt said, amused. “Only His Highness would insult the men holding him hostage and expect it to work.” He shook his head. “That vulture of a tavern-master was right.”

“It sounds as if he’s locked up.”

“And I have a feeling they’re expecting company.” Kurt grimaced. “Be careful. The slightest itchy word to these brutes will have them drawing blades to scratch it.”

“We’ll need to speak with them,” she said. She tried the warehouse door, but it was locked. “We’ll need to find another way in.”

“They’ll have the back entrance guarded, you know that,” Kurt told her. He pressed his shoulder against the door, testing its weight. “The damn thing’s solid oak, and it feels like they’ve barred it from the inside. We’re not getting in that way.”

“So we’ll have to go around back.” De Sardet started around the corner, but Kurt caught her arm. 

“Remember what the tavern-keeper said. They’re dangerous, and there’s likely to be more of them than there are of us. The last thing you need is to end up a hostage along with him.”

What he didn’t say was the only way that would happen was if he was killed first; Kurt’s job was to protect her, and while de Sardet herself was important enough to be taken hostage, she knew that a group of bandits would hardly consider a bodyguard worth ransoming. _Nor would my uncle be likely to pay it,_ she thought, hating the thought, _even though Kurt has been a truer friend to me than any of the lords or ladies at my uncle’s court, and would protect me with his life._

It had been a long time since events in Serene had reminded her of that fact; while there had been riots in the streets and assassination attempts in the palace, the most recent had been several years ago. She’d allowed herself to think that Kurt’s role at the palace was to practice with her in the training yard, not to defend her with his life, and the sudden reminder of the reality of the situation was unwelcome.

“I don’t want this to come to blows,” she said. “Surely they can be persuaded to release Constantin without violence.” _I am a legate of the Congregation of Merchants,_ she told herself. _I can do this._

Kurt tried to move in front of her as they made their way to the back of the warehouse, but this time, she placed a hand on his arm. “No,” she said. “I want to make it clear we’re here to talk, not fight. Let me do this. Please." Kurt’s hand eased off his sword, but she could tell he wasn’t happy.

As they drew nearer, she could hear the bandits arguing. “…clear he’s a rich man,” one was saying.

“He needed to be taught a lesson, but it’s better we grab some coin,” a second agreed. “With all those posters we posted, sooner or later, someone with deep pockets will show up to liberate the rooster!”

De Sardet took a deep breath and walked up to them, her hands spread in a gesture of peace, trying to convey the impression that she was entirely unarmed. _It’s a good thing I’m wearing gloves; none of them can see my ring._ Similarly, the collar she wore was hidden beneath her cravat, and in any case might be passed off as an ordinary piece of jewelry, not a necklace designed to augment her talents.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going? You’re in our territory,” a man said. Squat and blunt-faced, with a squashed nose that looked as if it had been broken a dozen times, he seemed to be the bandits’ enforcer; he advanced on them, looking to Kurt more than de Sardet, and she could see he was sizing him up for a fight.

“I’m looking for my cousin. It would seem he is in this building,” she answered, as if Constantin’s presence was merely coincidence.

“That very well could be,” another man spoke up, moving to the enforcer’s side; from the way the other man deferred to him, she suspected he was their leader. “We have had a guest since yesterday, a regular ladies’ man in golden stitches.”

“That would fit the bill,” she admitted. “I have no idea how he earned such a…kind invitation, but…”

“Being born into silk sheets doesn’t give a man the right to insult his fellow man…or show disrespect…”

 _Oh, Constantin._ Alexandra de Sardet knew her cousin well enough to know that he had absolutely no compunction about saying anything to anyone when he was drunk. _If he’s drunk enough, he’ll say exactly what he thinks._ She had first learned diplomacy intervening for him at banquets, hoping to avert the worst incidents between her cousin and various lords, ambassadors, and well-to-do merchants.

“We know this sort all too well,” the enforcer chorused. “Used to everyone doing whatever he says!” He grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile. “But they’re always a lot friendlier having learned their little lesson. Isn’t that right, Chief?”

“That’s right,” the chief agreed, and de Sardet found herself hoping that Constantin hadn’t been treated too harshly.

 _He sounded well enough. I don’t think he would be singing if they had hurt him._ Constantin had shouted about being imprisoned, not beaten. _They wanted their ransom._

The chief’s next words confirmed that impression. “But lessons have their price,” he said, “so if you want your drunkard back…”

De Sardet drew herself up. “That drunkard is the only son of the Prince d’Orsay,” she said, taking the same imperious tone she had with the recalcitrant merchant. “I am sure you know the punishment reserved for those who slight His Majesty…”

The bandits’ reactions were immediate: the bandits behind their leader blanched, eyes widening, and one fumbled his sword; another looked as if he wanted to run away. Even their chief took a step back, and as he did so, de Sardet saw his hands had begun to tremble.

Alexandra de Sardet knew full well what they were thinking of; Heloise and Constantin d’Orsay were Augustin d’Orsay’s second wife and son, the first having perished in an assassination attempt meant for the prince himself. _I don’t know precisely what he did to the assassins, if only because no one dares to speak of it._ Every rumor she had heard was more terrible than the last: noble houses exterminated root and branch, their very names obliterated; the assassins themselves dying horrible deaths that had lasted for days, weeks, or perhaps even longer, depending on the rumor. _There are some who say that the assassins are still alive in some dungeon beneath the palace…at least, what is left of them._

Only the enforcer seemed not to know. “Shit!” he hissed, in a whisper directed at his chief that was entirely audible to both de Sardet and Kurt. “You were absolutely right, chief! He’s definitely rich and certainly a noble!”

The chief’s response was immediate. “Shut your trap, imbecile! You want to get us all drawn and quartered?”

“Or worse,” the bandit upon the porch muttered. “Flayed alive, I heard.”

The chief looked back to them, and now it was he who raised his hands in a gesture meant to placate. “Listen! We didn’t know who we were dealing with. We never would have given offense to the Prince!”

De Sardet kept her expression stern. “That’s what I had assumed,” she said, still imperious.

“Ah…here, take the key to his cell, and…give our respects to His Highness,” the chief sputtered. He fumbled with a ring of keys on his waist; his hands were shaking so badly that it took him several attempts before he detached the proper one.

The enforcer still didn’t seem to understand. “Aw, chief, what about the gold?”

“Enough! We’re going. If you want to stay and end up dead, that’s on you.” The chief looked around. “Come on, boys, it’s time to move out.” He turned back to de Sardet, and actually tipped his hat in a gesture of respect. “We’ll give you all the time you need, my lady. Apologize to the Prince’s son for us. Tell him we had no idea, truly, and that he can help himself to whatever he wants from the warehouse as a gesture of apology. I hope we can all forget this ever happened.” He executed the most awkward bow de Sardet had ever seen in her life, then fled past her, his men following.

Kurt followed them out into the alleyway. “They’re gone,” he said. “I was worried they might think of staging an ambush, but it worked.”

“Apparently, my uncle’s name carries weight even here,” she answered. “I had hoped it might mean something…and if it did not, then at least they would realize that my uncle could offer a handsome ransom.”

“Though I’d have hated to see you pay it,” said Kurt. “The thought of giving gold to these low-lifes because your cousin can’t keep his mouth shut…”

“I would have paid them all the gold in Serene to see him safely returned to us,” she answered. “Though I’m glad we didn’t have to. I hardly know what my uncle would have thought if I’d told him he’d have to pay such a ransom because of Constantin’s actions.”

“I’d have sent them to the palace with a bill and hoped we were gone by the time your uncle heard of it,” Kurt admitted. “But, thanks to you, we do not have to worry. You were impressive, Green Blood. If I didn’t know you, I think I would have been a little afraid of you.”

“I was so afraid they’d laugh at me,” she admitted. “Or point out that I was another of those who seemed ‘used to everyone doing whatever she says.’”

“Except you aren’t used to that at all,” Kurt said, “if only because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you try to order someone about before today. Between that merchant, the alchemist, and now these bandits, well, it seems to me you’re getting the hang of it.”

“I suppose it will be necessary for a legate,” she said, then bit her lip, glancing at Kurt. “Was I really? Impressive, I mean?”

He grinned. “Entirely.” 

“My heart was pounding the entire time,” she admitted. “It still is.” She gave a giddy laugh of relief. “But we did it. Let’s find Constantin.”

They did; even through the cell door, de Sardet could hear him talking. “Well, this has been monumentous, gentlemen, but I have more important things to attend do,” he was saying as she fitted the key to the lock.

“Is he giving a speech to himself?” Kurt muttered, amused.

De Sardet glanced over her shoulder at him. “Should we let him finish?”

“An island to govern…treaties to sign…”

“We have too much to do, and we’ve wasted enough time on this already. Go on.”

“Riches to expedite…and a demanding father…”

De Sardet fitted the key to the lock, pushing the door open.

“…to impress!” She caught sight of sudden movement, and got her arms up just in time to block the glass wine-bottle that was coming at her head. It was largely empty, and as it shattered, she was driven back against the door, slamming it shut, and she felt hands against her shoulders as Constantin charged.

“Constantin!” she shouted desperately, hoping to get through to him before he closed his hands around her throat or went for the pistol at her hip. _This is not how I imagined our reunion._ “It’s me!”

He pulled back, blinking as he stared her in the face. “My dear cousin!” He laughed, and the rough hands on her shoulders turned into a warm embrace of relief. He stank of stale alcohol, both wine and spirits; it made her slow to return the embrace, but he was already letting go as he said, “Ah, my lucky star! Always there to pull me out of my fires.”

She smiled. “I do what I can. We are departing soon,” she said, turning back toward the door. “Your father wasn’t pleased by your absence this morning.”

Constantin had been following her, but she heard his footsteps stop. “Have you ever seen him happy about anything when it comes to me? You know what he thinks of me!” His voice had dropped, sadness and dread replacing his enthusiastic cheer.

She turned back toward him. “He cares about you. I know that! He appointed you governor, didn’t he?”

“He is ridding himself of a source of constant disappointment,” Constantin answered, and a dark cloud passed over his features. But then he let out a long breath, and bright-eyed excitement replaced simmering anger. “Enough said! Today we set sail for adventure!”

“If you only knew how these river scum treated me. Do me a courtesy, cousin. Now that we stand boldly alongside the brave Kurt, let’s give them their money’s worth!”

“Sorry, Constantin, but the men have already fled.”

“Fled? Don’t tell me you paid them,” he said, clearly outraged.

“We did not pay them a copper penny,” said Kurt. “Green Blood talked them down.”

“Talked to them? How?”

“She threatened them with certain consequences if they did not surrender you into her custody.”

“Threatened them? My fair cousin, is this true?”

“I spoke to them of your father’s displeasure,” she answered. _See, Constantin? Even the lowest bandit in Serene believes your father loves you._ “I reminded them that he would be very unhappy to hear that they had dared take his only son and heir as their hostage.”

But that was not the message Constantin took from her reply. He deflated. “I see. It was a bluff.”

“There was no bluff, Constantin. You must know how unhappy your father would be if anything happened to you.”

“Would he, I wonder? I often thought that he would hate to lose his only son and heir…but as I am such a disappointment, I wonder if he would even notice the loss at all.”

“You invoked my father, and used their fear of him to secure my release.” Constantin looked around. “Give me my sword, and together we should put the fear of _us_ into them!”

“Constantin—”

“Don’t you want to teach those ruffians a lesson? The way they treated me was truly abominable. They can’t have gone far. I heard them speaking of another warehouse they own, one they use as their safehouse. I’m sure that’s where they’ve gone. The three of us can certainly take them!” He looked hopefully to Kurt. “I’m sure you were unhappy that it didn’t end in a fight. Why don’t you earn your keep, and help us find them?”

“Constantin,” de Sardet rebuked him. _Kurt has more than earned his wages by helping me find you. I don’t know how many times he’s saved my life today._ The bandits, brigands, and cutpurses who roamed the streets would have seen a lone noblewoman as easy prey; with Kurt at her side, most had shied away, and the few who had tried had been dealt with quickly and decisively. _I hardly know what he makes, but it cannot be nearly enough._

“You have always been the reasonable soul,” Constantin said, “but don’t these brutes deserve a punishment?”

“We have a ship to catch,” she protested, but Constantin was still caught up in his enthusiasm.

“Come, now, let’s go! What do you say, Kurt, cousin?”

“Kurt,” she pleaded, hoping he would agree with her.

“It is Your Excellency’s decision to make,” Kurt said, looking to her. “Whatever it is, I shall follow.”

She blinked; technically, both as governor of Teer Fradee and the son of the Prince d’Orsay, Constantin outranked her. _It’s Constantin’s orders he should be deferring to, not mine._ But she knew that Constantin would not contradict him.

“We have too much to do before we depart,” she told him. “I am sorry if you would have preferred a fight, but I did what I thought best.”

Constantin sighed, blowing air out through his lips. “Ah! Well, what is done is done,” he said, sounding petulant. “A mighty vessel awaits us, and a tremendous adventure!”

“Well, first, we must find your clothes,” de Sardet answered, looking at her cousin; his doublet and hat were missing, and he was clad only in a very stained linen shirt, his breeches, and boots, with a red sash tied about his waist. “And I’m afraid we have several errands that must be handled before we sail. The Cardinal Ambassador has asked me to deal with several heretics who are hiding in the Naut warehouses, the captain of our ship has informed me that his cabin boy has gone missing, and the commander of the Coin Guard has charged Kurt with smuggling merchandise aboard our ship.”

“And that’s only what’s left to handle,” said Kurt. “It’s been a busy day.” De Sardet glanced with surprise at Kurt; she thought she detected a hint of rebuke from him as he looked to Constantin. For his part, Constantin ignored it entirely, bounding past Kurt to retrieve his clothes from another room.

“Here, Kurt. I took the opportunity to go through their things,” Constantin said offhandedly. “You can carry some of this; I’m sure the merchant will pay a few coins for it.” He had a mess of weapons, a few pairs of gloves, and, strangely enough, what looked to be a turban of the Bridge Alliance.

“We should take the weapons,” de Sardet said reluctantly. “That way, those men won’t be able to use them to hurt anyone else. We can stop at the merchant on our way to the docks. Perhaps we can exchange them for some Naut jackets.” As Kurt began to take the assortment of faded clothes and weapons from Constantin, she frowned. “Let me carry some of that.”

“I can manage, Green Blood. It isn’t far to the merchant’s stall.”

But she insisted on taking the bundle of clothing from him as they left the bandits’ warehouse.

“A short stop at the merchant’s, to exchange these wares for some Naut clothes,” said Constantin. “And then…rescuing a kidnapped boy, sneaking into the Nauts’ warehouses, turning smuggler…we haven’t even embarked and it seems today will be filled with excitement!” Constantin grinned, and his enthusiasm was infectious. “Lead the way!”


	13. A New Hat

They stopped at the merchant’s stall, where Kurt gladly handed over the pile of old weapons that the bandits had left behind. De Sardet threw in the clothing, and then began to barter with the merchant, haggling over his gear. The man had a sailor’s coat that was nearly large enough to fit Kurt, another for de Sardet, and a vest for Constantin. De Sardet also purchased some ink in the hopes of approximating Naut tattoos for them, if necessary.

“We’ll change after we speak with Captain Vasco,” she said. “There’s a cabin on the docks that seems to have fallen into disuse; that will be as good a place as any.” But even after she had exchanged their trinkets for Naut clothing, she kept poring over the man’s wares; she went through his boots, gloves, and finally hats, examining each in turn.

“What do you think of this?” she asked Constantin.

“Your hat is finer than any in this merchant’s stall,” he answered. “But, if you want to spend money on trifles, I would not stop you!”

De Sardet turned to Kurt. “Which of these do you like better?” She held a fashionable-looking hat in one hand and a leather tricorne in the other. 

“I’d pick the tricorne,” he told her. “But they’re both fine hats, and it seems to me you’d prefer one that’s in fashion. I don’t think you’ve ever liked tricornes as much as that new style.”

“Though you would look lovely in either, cousin, I am certain,” Constantin put in. “I do think the new fashions suit you better than a tricorne, but if you wish for a change, well, I don’t see why you’d exchange your feathered hat for one less flamboyant!”

“Constantin is right about that,” Kurt agreed. “That fine feathered hat of yours is of better quality than that poor imitation.”

“But which do you like?” she pressed. “Let me see how they look on you. The merchant lacks a mirror, and I’d like to see how they look on someone’s head.”

“Seeing it on Kurt’s head isn’t likely to reflect how it’ll look on yours,” Constantin agreed, but de Sardet was undeterred, extending both hats to him.

For once, Kurt thought Constantin was right, but didn’t protest; for the moment, de Sardet seemed caught up in hat-shopping, and he was glad to see her distracted by something so innocuous. _She ought to get joy from something today,_ he thought, putting on the fashionable hat, then the tricorne.

“I think you’re right,” she told Kurt. Her eyes sparkled as he took the tricorne off, handing both hats back to her. Turning to the merchant, she said, “I’ll take the tricorne.” Reaching into her purse, she counted out the merchant’s price, handing him the coin.

“Are you certain, my fair cousin? If that hat fits Kurt, I suspect it will be too large for you,” Constantin said.

“It isn’t for me,” de Sardet replied. She turned to Kurt, holding the tricorne in her hands. “For you. I insist.”

He touched his own hat, a faded felt thing that had long ago lost most of its shape. He’d taken it off a bandit in an alleyway one night; the men had tried to attack him while he’d been helping Constantin back to the palace. “Green Blood, it’s your coin,” he tried to protest. “You should spend it on yourself, not—”

She touched the brim of her own hat. “My uncle gave me this,” she said. It was a fashionable hat of a style recently in vogue in the city, but accented with a magnificent feather that served as a visual flourish. “A new hat, new boots, new gloves, a new doublet…between my mother and my uncle, they made sure that both Constantin and I were outfitted for the journey.”

Constantin tugged on his faded doublet, still stinking of stale drink. “I was supposed to have a doublet much like yours, cousin,” he admitted. “I believe it’s probably still laid out upon my bed in my chambers.”

“I’m sure your servants made sure it was packed,” Kurt said. “I saw them struggling with all your trunks when I was leaving the palace this morning. Between you and Green Blood, I think you’re bringing enough luggage to sink the ship.”

“Where you have scarcely anything at all,” said de Sardet. “We’re all embarking on this adventure together. I wanted to get you gloves or new boots, but I’m afraid that merchant didn’t have anything nicer than what you already have.” She brightened, running her hands over the leather. “But I thought this looked nice.”

Kurt was not sure how much coin she had left the palace with, but suspected it had cost a fair bit of her spending money. _It is nice,_ he thought, of good enough quality that either Constantin d’Orsay or Alexandra de Sardet might have worn it without exciting comment.

“You deserve it,” she pressed. “You helped me make those repairs in the tavern…repairs that Constantin really ought to have paid you back for.”

“You speak as if you don’t expect me to repay my debts.” Constantin placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, truly.”

“Ask poor Geoffrey if you were planning to repay him before you left,” said Kurt. “Green Blood would have had to pay from her own pocket if we hadn’t rebuilt that furniture.”

“Thanks to Kurt, it looked good as new.”

“You did most of the work yourself, Green Blood.”

“Don’t listen to him. Kurt is a skilled carpenter,” de Sardet told her cousin.

“Truly? I never knew.”

“Nor did I,” said de Sardet. She turned back to Kurt, pressing the hat into his hands. “Please, take it. It’s a gift.”

“For helping my fair cousin to save my life from those ruffians,” Constantin added.

“It’s good to know what you think your life is worth,” said Kurt, taking the hat from de Sardet. She smiled, and it made him glad he’d accepted her gift. _It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since she said her goodbyes._ “One very fine hat.”

“Well, the salary the Coin Guard pays you plus that hat,” said Constantin as he settled it on his head, removing the faded bandit’s hat.

“They don’t pay me enough for all the trouble you’ve put us through. Absconding from the palace, going out and getting drunk the night before we’re due to set sail, getting abducted by bandits—”

“Don’t lecture me, Kurt. You sound too much like my father.”

Kurt guffawed, thinking of Augustin d’Orsay’s cold, precise tones, his aristocratic accent. “That’ll be the day.”

“I was worried, Constantin,” said de Sardet. Her mild tone of reproof had more of an effect than all of Kurt’s words; Constantin apologized immediately.

“I am sorry for any worry I caused you, truly. I certainly didn’t intend to be kidnapped! Well, at least there’s nothing left to be done before our departure, is there? You’ve handled all the most tiresome work.”

“I’m afraid there’s still more to be done,” said Kurt. “My commanding officer has ordered me to make sure some crates are loaded aboard our ship.”

“And Captain Vasco’s cabin boy has gone missing,” added de Sardet. “Now that we’ve found you, I hope to continue our search for him; we’re to visit Sir Fontaine to see if he might provide some information.”

“Certainly,” Constantin said. Leaning over, he plucked Kurt’s old hat from his hands, then settled it on his own head. “Now that you have such a fine hat, you won’t mind if I borrow this.”

“Keep it,” Kurt told him. De Sardet looked as if she might have objected, but he gave her a fond look. “Now that I have this, I won’t be needing it again. Thank you, Green Blood.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always swap out Kurt's original bandit's hat for a tricorne ASAP...and Constantin usually ends up wearing the bandit's hat. This is meant to provide a short but sweet explanation as to why.


	14. Of Naut Contracts

They returned to the docks, where de Sardet introduced Vasco to Constantin. “May I present my cousin,” she told him.

“Constantin d’Orsay, future governor of Teer Fradee. I’m enchanted, Captain, and I am eager to board your ship,” Constantin said, and de Sardet could tell that he was: he was eyeing Vasco appreciatively, looking very taken with the Naut captain.

“I’m sure you are,” she heard Kurt mutter, so low that neither Vasco nor Constantin heard, but she had to stifle a laugh.

“Enchanted as well, Your Highness,” Vasco replied; his tone was far friendlier than it had been with her, and she thought from the look he gave Constantin that he might have been interested as well. “I hope you enjoy your voyage.”

“Are you ready? Can we weigh anchor?”

“Well, our cabin boy is still missing,” Vasco began, but de Sardet cut him off.

“As it so happens, Captain, we are looking into that. If I might ask a few questions?”

She led with the revelation that she had met with Lady Fontaine, who claimed to be the boy’s mother; at that, Vasco’s gaze darkened. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you the terms of Jonas’s contract; I did not know the boy was originally from Serene.” But he had no qualms about explaining the concept of a Naut contract to de Sardet, telling her how some nations even traded their subjects before birth, while individual families often struck bargains for commercial advantage. “He hasn’t seen his family since he was a small child, and ever since then, he’s been a Naut. Our ships are his home and we are his only family,” he concluded firmly.

De Sardet thanked him and turned away.

“Do you see anyone who could help us? Anyone who is not a Naut?” Kurt asked.

Constantin didn’t seem to hear him; instead, he was fairly rubbing his hands with glee. “Oh, I do hope my father is involved in this sordid business.”

As they moved back up the steps of the port, Constantin caught sight of Sir de Courcillon, who was waving at them, trying to get their attention. “Our old teacher must surely know what’s going on here. Let’s go talk to him.” 

Sir de Courcillon was indeed eager to help, and very pleased to see Constantin. “Your Highness! I’m happy to see you. Your absence this morning worried both your father and me,” he chided him.

“Come now, Sir de Courcillon, my father may be angry, outraged, or disappointed, but he’s never worried about me. I am sad to have caused _you_ any worry, though.” Repentance vanished from his face as he leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. “Would you believe that I was rotting away in a sinister jail, guarded by thugs ready to kill me? Though seeing double from last night’s drink, I was preparing an ingenious escape plan when…” He edged toward de Sardet, then extended his hands in a flourish. “Ta-daa! My fair cousin jumped up out of nowhere and saved me! I am quite the fairytale damsel in distress.”

He had meant for the tale to make de Courcillon smile, she was sure, but Sir de Courcillon only gave his head a weary shake. “You might have refrained from the company of bandits the night before such an important departure!”

“Take away the risk and halve the pleasure, de Courcillon! It is the salt of life!”

De Courcillon frowned. “Hmm…I fear that some of my teachings have been misunderstood.” He looked to de Sardet. “But you wanted to ask me something, de Sardet?”

When she told him what she had learned about the Nauts’ contracts, Captain Vasco’s cabin boy, and the Fontaines, he frowned.

“Who _was_ a cabin boy?” he asked. Do you mean he’s no longer one?”

“They took him back to bring him home.”

“Well, that is very unpleasant news, de Sardet. We need to do all we can to bring the boy back to the ship. Since time immemorial, there has always been a certain price to pay for the services of the Nauts. Children born on their ships belong to them; it’s the rule of the sea, but certain contracts are so important that they require children to be offered in exchange. From time to time, the Congregation has passed such accord, and certain noble families have had to give their children up.” 

De Sardet stared at him. “Are you saying that the Fontaines lost their son because of some contract signed between my uncle and the Nauts?”

De Courcillon could not meet her gaze. “Hum…no. That contract ended a long time ago. This cabin boy couldn’t have been a part of that contract. But Sir Fontaine has made a fortune trading with the Alliance via ships.”

“Do you mean he would have offered up his own son in exchange for wealth?” The Fontaines were otherwise childless, and de Sardet could hardly believe that Sir Fontaine, whatever his greed, would have agreed to surrender his only son and heir for a fortune.

“Well, he probably did it before the birth of the child, and regretted it afterwards,” de Courcillon replied. “But that is of little importance. What counts most is that you bring the boy back to the Nauts as soon as possible. Breaking a contract with the seafarers has always cost us dearly. Our nation could feel it in its coffers.”

“I will do my best,” de Sardet answered, but could not help but feel uncomfortable.

“Taking a boy from his parents because of some contract,” she said. “Lady Fontaine did not seem to know of that detail; that could be of use to us.” _Could her husband have bargained away their child without her consent? Taking him from her seems terribly cruel, but taking Jonas from his family could have grave repercussions for the Congregation._ Again, she thought of what Sir de Courcillon had said about the Congregation’s contracts, and could only imagine her uncle agreeing to bargain her away to the Nauts for some commercial advantage. _What would my life have been like, pulled from the arms of a mother who loved me?_ Lady Fontaine had been haughty, but there had been genuine emotion in her eyes as she’d spoken of her little Celestin. “Trading children to seal a contract…it seems little better than selling your child into slavery.”

“A father selling his own son for a few boat rides. For ugly, that is ugly,” Kurt said with disgust, agreeing with her. “I hate slavers…and while a life with the Nauts might not be as bad as all that, this business disgusts me.”

“Have you ever seen a slave?” Constantin asked. “How would you know how life with the Nauts compares? The Congregation does not use slaves. Indentured servants, convict labor, and perhaps the occasional debtor who’s sold his labor, but not slaves.”

“I did have a life before I came to the Congregation, you know. When I fought with the Red Sun Regiment in Theleme, my squadron found a slavers’ camp. The Bridge had taken slaves to build its fortifications.” He glanced over his shoulder, to where Vasco was still directing his crew. “I’ll say this for the Nauts: they may recruit kids, but they treat them better than I’ve ever seen anyone treat slaves. They say they’re more like a big family, though I doubt that.”

“Are the children taken from their parents and given to Naut parents to raise? Or are they put to work as soon as they’re old enough?”

“You’d have to ask the sailor that. The Nauts are notorious for their secrecy,” Kurt replied. “I’ve taken a few journeys on their ships, and I’ll tell you this: they don’t raise their kids on board. The youngest I’ve seen is a cabin boy who looked to be about twelve, and he said he was new-made.”

“You should remember not all parents are as loving as your mother,” Constantin added. “If the Fontaines were so eager to give their son up, perhaps they are not so deserving of him. I am sure my father would gladly have traded me to the Nauts if they had offered him any sort of political gain.”

“I find that difficult to imagine,” Kurt said. “You with tattoos on your face, scrubbing some deck until your hands bleed, given a new name, speaking with a Naut accent…though you gave us a picture of that today when we found you, dressed like a ragged sailor and smelling of stale drink.”

“Your father would never have given you away, Constantin. You are his heir.”

“As this Jonas was Sir Fontaine’s?”

“The Fontaines have no other children. Why would Sir Fontaine have given his son away so easily?”

"Maybe Jonas wasn't an only child when his parents signed their contract," said Constantin. "He might have had an elder son who perished after he'd already given him away." His face darkened, and de Sardet knew he must have been thinking of his own older half-brother: Sebastien d'Orsay had been killed by assassins who had meant to kill the Prince d'Orsay, but had only succeeded in murdering his wife and son. 

"I do not think so," de Sardet said. "At least, I cannot recall ever hearing that the Fontaines had another child. Giving away any child seems terrible, but their only child..." 

“They were younger then, Green Blood. He must have imagined he’d have others.”

“I cannot imagine it,” she said. “Agreeing to surrender your child, knowing you will never see them again, all for the sake of material wealth…”

“You’re a good person, Green Blood. Of course you can’t imagine it.” Kurt shook his head. “Not all parents are so tender-hearted.”

“You should know that,” said Constantin. “My own parents would have been glad to sell me to the Nauts, especially if they’d had a more promising son.”

“Constantin—”

He put his hands up. “Enough of that! We have more important things to worry about. You heard what Sir de Courcillon said. This Jonas must be returned to the Nauts, or we risk our alliance with them…and that, my fair cousin, might put our imminent departure into jeopardy. You would hardly wish for that, now, would you?”

“I have wished for little else,” she murmured, turning her eyes to the distant palace at the top of the hill.

“Come, now,” Constantin said, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder of his cousin’s grief. “We have already bid our farewells once…well, you have, at least…and returning would only make things harder. Can you imagine how my father would shout if I returned to him now? His fury would be terrible.”

“It was terrible,” said Kurt. “It was not, however, directed at you, as you were not present.”

Constantin looked with concern to de Sardet. “You did not suffer his wrath, did you, cousin?”

“Fortunately not. I did not see him this morning,” de Sardet answered. “However, his displeasure was felt by Sir de Courcillon, several others among his advisors and palace staff, whichever Coin Guard were responsible for watching over you…”

“Is that why you are so displeased with me, Kurt? Did you suffer the lash of my father’s tongue?”

“He made it clear to me that he wasn’t happy, and that he’d have my hide if I didn’t find you and get you aboard that ship before the tide,” Kurt said, “but your father’s displeasure is the least of it.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Some of us have had other concerns beyond last-minute revels and drunkenness.”

“Ah, yes, because arranging to smuggle your superiors’ cargo and relying on my fair cousin to _talk_ to the ruffians who kidnapped me instead of making them answer for their crimes are such worthy pursuits.”

“Constantin!” De Sardet intervened. “Kurt’s superiors have given him orders regarding the Coin Guard’s cargo, and I am happy to help. As for your kidnappers, I told Kurt that I wished to avoid bloodshed. I asked him not to draw his sword or threaten them. Kurt, as for Constantin’s celebrations…”

“If you had but come with me, my fair cousin, I am sure you would have averted all difficulties,” he said. “You would have been able to charm those bandits into forgiving any of my hasty words, as you charmed them into releasing me.”

De Sardet sighed; she knew Constantin’s words were flattery, especially as he knew full well that threats, not charm, had secured his release. _But he is still Constantin, and I would forgive him far worse._ “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Perhaps I should have gone with you, but I could not.” Again, she glanced up at the hilltop, and felt a pang of longing for her mother.

 _All my blessings go with you, child._ Her heart was full as she reached into her pocket, feeling the weight of the silver medallion; her fingertips ran along its strange engravings, etchings in a design she had never seen.

 _We have not yet left the city, and I already miss her._ De Sardet knew full well that she could not have lost herself in celebrations in the Coin Tavern knowing that the following morning would bring a permanent goodbye. _But perhaps I could have convinced Constantin to return at a more reasonable hour._

“You have already rescued one damsel in distress,” Constantin reminded her, pulling her attention from the distant palace. “We go now to rescue another. Let us find this tower where Sir Fontaine has hidden his son, and let us rescue him!”

 _Will we truly be rescuing him, I wonder?_ De Sardet wondered. Lady Fontaine didn’t believe so: she attempted to turn them from the house entirely, dismissing them from her sight.

As Constantin suggested bribing the housemaid, Kurt nudged her gently. “There won’t be any need for it, Green Blood. Let’s go.”

Once they were out in the open, he revealed a note that he’d pocketed, speaking of arrangements for bringing food to the Fontaines’ warehouse near the docks. “Be careful,” he warned her as they made their way there. “Fontaine won’t be alone; he’ll have his henchmen with him.”

“We’re not afraid of a few henchmen!” Constantin said, but de Sardet shared Kurt’s caution.

“I don’t want to fight them,” she told him. “Whatever Sir Fontaine has done, he has done so in the hopes of recovering his child.”

“What will you do, Green Blood?”

“I suppose that depends on what Jonas himself wants,” she said. “We will have to speak with him. If he truly wishes to remain with his family, then I suppose we should return to the palace and speak with my uncle, or perhaps return to the harbor office to see if the Nauts would be willing to reach some agreement. I hardly know.”

“My father would certainly have the Fontaines arrested for kidnapping and thrown into a dungeon, if it meant placating the Nauts,” Constantin said. “I have heard him say many times that he tested them once, and found them willing to abrogate the alliance in its entirety. He is utterly convinced that we require the Nauts’ services, especially with our interests on Teer Fradee, and I am certain he would do anything to keep that alliance intact. One boy’s wishes would not mean anything to him.”

“Even so…” De Sardet sighed. “If Jonas wishes to remain with the Fontaines, I would not threaten Sir Fontaine with the use of force to take him. Whatever anyone else chooses to do.”

“Do you think that’s likely, Green Blood? Lady Fontaine seems fond of the boy, but do you think he’s fond of her? After all, that gambler at the tavern said he wasn’t pleased to see Fontaine, and that there was a bit of a struggle, even if there was no outright violence. Think on it this way: he’s been a Naut since he was a young boy, and, as the sailor says, the Nauts are the only family he’s known. Do you think he even remembers his parents?”

“The only way we’ll know is by asking,” she said as they reached the Fontaine warehouse. “So I suppose we must find and ask him. I only hope Sir Fontaine will not argue with that.”

Constantin put a hand on the hilt of his rapier. “If he does, we’ll be ready for him!”


	15. Saving Jonas

Fontaine was ready for a fight; Kurt was appalled to see that he was surrounded not by ordinary ruffians, as he had expected from the gambler’s descriptions, but by men in the blue and silver doublets of the Coin Guard.

_So the wealthy merchant has made his contracts with the Guard as well as the Nauts,_ he thought, but didn’t like it. _To protect a man is one thing, but to help him kidnap a child is quite another. There’s no honor in keeping a child prisoner._

“Lady de Sardet? Sir d’Orsay? What are you doing here?” Fontaine demanded.

“We have come looking for your son,” said de Sardet. “The Nauts are worried about his disappearance.”

“Those Nauts took him from us, but now we’ve got him back, and he’ll be staying with us!”

“Would you be so kind as to hear what I have to say, Sir Fontaine?”

“You’ve taken your son against his will and have him locked up like merchandise in a warehouse. Is that what you call being a good father?”

“If I hadn’t taken him back, he would have been hauled off on one of the cursed ships!”

“If that’s what he wants, then why would you want to stop him?” Kurt saw de Sardet scrutinizing Fontaine carefully as she asked the question, searching for the answer. 

_She’s waiting for him to say that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, that he’s not stopping Jonas from doing anything,_ Kurt thought. He knew that, despite all the difficulties it would create, some part of de Sardet wanted to hear Fontaine say, _Jonas wants to be here as much as we want him here. He wants to stay with us because we love him._

Instead, Fontaine answered, “For his mother! She misses him so.” He sighed. “But in the end, you may be right. My boy has changed. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since we’ve been in this…precarious predicament.” He closed his eyes, tugging on his whiskers, and bowed his head. “Very well! Take the key and take him away…and cursed be the day I delivered my son unto the Nauts!”

“All children leave the nest one day or another, sir,” de Sardet replied softly, and Kurt thought he still heard a touch of sympathy in her tone as Fontaine thrust the key at her. “Farewell.”

Fontaine did not reply; instead, he gestured to the hired thugs around him. “With me,” he said. “There’s no point in staying. The boy will not want to say goodbye.”

De Sardet moved past him; Kurt followed her closely, eyeing the thugs, in case one of them had other ideas. But they obeyed Fontaine and followed him out, ascending the stairs and moving off.

“It’s so cold down here,” she said, shivering a little as she pushed open the door, moving into a narrow corridor. “I hope that he has given Jonas a warm bed and plenty of blankets.”

Fontaine had not: they found the cabin boy in a cold cell with only a pile of hay, a lantern, and a bucket that stank of human waste. Constantin looked at the cell and shuddered in disgust. “So this is where the merchant is keeping his son. Abusive fathers!” he muttered, in a tone of sympathy, his earlier delight forgotten.

Jonas was a boy of about Reiner’s age, perhaps fifteen, if that; he was small and slight, and if not for the other sailors’ mentions of him drinking at the tavern, Kurt would have thought him younger still. The cell was damp and cold, but he still wore only the dirty linen shirt, red sash, and trousers of the Nauts, along with a kerchief tied around his head. He lacked the tattoos that marked the other Nauts; his face was bare, and Kurt saw the resemblance to both Fontaines immediately: Jonas had his mother’s strikingly green eyes and his father’s complexion.

“Who are you?” Jonas asked as de Sardet unlocked the cell. Constantin hung back, having recoiled at the smell, and Kurt stayed with him to avoid frightening the boy.

“My name is de Sardet; I am legate of the Congregation. Your captain has sent me to find you.”

Jonas brightened visibly at the mention of the captain. “And were you able to convince my…my _father_ to allow me to go free?” He spoke the word as if it were unfamiliar.

“Yes. Even if I had to bend his arm a little,” de Sardet said, though Kurt thought she was being too hard on herself; he was impressed that she’d managed to talk Fontaine down without violence.

“That doesn’t surprise me. He seemed to have no intention of changing his mind!”

“You don’t seem to be all that close to your parents…”

“I hadn’t seen them since I was five years old. I barely remember them. They find me, capture me, and lock me up in this warehouse…hard to grow close after all that…” He shivered, and again Kurt couldn’t help but be angered by how the Fontaines had mistreated their son.

_And that man calls himself a father,_ he thought.

“My family is the Nauts,” Jonas said defiantly. “I am sorry for my parents, but that is the way of it now. Can I go home?”

“Yes,” de Sardet said, helping him out of the cell. “You still should go and say farewell to your mother. Then find your way to the ship. I will see you there.”

“I do feel sorry for my mother,” Jonas admitted. “But I cannot stay here.” He shook his head. “Her little Celestin, she keeps calling me. I know she will miss me.”

“Perhaps you could write to her,” de Sardet suggested.

“I’m not very good at it. It’s part of the reason I’ve been a cabin boy for so long. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say. I don’t know that she’ll want to hear from me, anyway – from Jonas, I mean, and not Celestin Fontaine. I don’t know that she’ll still want to call me her son, once I’m a Naut.” 

“You are a Naut already, are you not?” Kurt spoke up. 

Jonas froze when he saw Kurt. “Jonas, what is it?” de Sardet asked. “This is Kurt. He’s the captain of my cousin Constantin’s guard.” She nodded to Constantin as she spoke; he had retreated farther down the hall, and was looking at Jonas with mingled sympathy and anger.

_I’m sure he wishes Fontaine had provoked a fight._ But his thoughts were drawn back to Jonas as de Sardet spoke.

“Kurt helped me find you. He found a note in your—in the Fontaines’ house that let us know they were keeping you here. Your mother would not say,” said de Sardet.

“You’re wearing a uniform like them,” Jonas said uncertainly. “The men who took me.”

“They’re members of the Coin Guard, like me,” said Kurt, though the thought made him grimace. _We don’t choose the men in our regiment._ “Sir Fontaine likely hired the Coin Guard to protect him.” He frowned. “I am sorry for their part in all this.”

“As am I,” said de Sardet, looking around. “Sir Fontaine is a nobleman of the Congregation; his actions reflect poorly on us all. I hope you will forgive us, Jonas.”

“Forgive you? You saved me. I can go home now.”

“To your people,” said de Sardet. “The Nauts.”

“Yes,” said Jonas. “I’ll be one soon, I hope.”

“That isn’t the first time you’ve said that,” said Kurt. “Are you a Naut, or aren’t you?”

“I am,” Jonas said, “but…I’m not, not truly, until I make crew. That’s when I’ll get my tattoos.” He frowned. “A part of me wonders if they would have wanted me if I’d already had them. Would my mother have looked at me the same way if I’d had my tattoos?”

“I’m sure of it,” said de Sardet. “She is your mother, and will love you whether you’re here in Serene, or fulfilling your obligations with the Nauts.”

She betrayed enough feeling that Kurt saw Jonas blink in confusion; after all, there was no way he could have known of her own farewell that morning.

“They aren’t obligations,” said Jonas. “It’s what I want. I’m happy on the _Sea Horse_ , with Flavia, Lauro, and the rest of the crew, and I think I like Captain Vasco better than my father. Speaking of the captain, do you think you could put in a good word with the captain for me? I hope he won’t be angry.”

“I’m sure he won’t be. I will explain everything,” said de Sardet.

“Thank you,” Jonas said. “I’ll go and say goodbye to her. She seems so sad.”

“Just make sure you’re on the boat by the tide,” said Kurt. “Your captain will be happy to have you back, but I doubt he’ll wait.”

“I know he won’t. If you’re not on the ship with the tide, you’re left behind, and that’s that,” said Jonas, in the tone of someone who’d had the words drilled into him. “Thank you again, Legate de Sardet. I’ll see you aboard the ship!”

“Ship,” de Sardet murmured as Jonas pushed past her, running down the corridor. “I should have asked him.”

“For now, why don’t we go back to the docks and tell the sailor of your success?” Kurt suggested. “He might forgive you if he knows he’s got his crewman back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game mechanics strike again: Sir Fontaine uses men in Coin Guard uniforms (which slightly conflicts with the gambler's description of them in the tavern), but Kurt can't order them to stand down.


	16. The Heretics

“My cabin boy, Jonas, is back aboard ship,” said Vasco. “I have you to thank, I imagine.”

De Sardet did nod, though she wasn’t enthusiastic. “You do, though it’s a rather sad affair that leaves a broken family behind,” she said.

The Naut captain’s earlier hostility had softened. “All we can do is plot a course. No one tells the wind what to do.” He paused, and Kurt saw new respect in his eyes as he admitted, “I do thank you, de Sardet. I did not think you would go to so much trouble for a cabin boy. Your actions bring you honor.”

He was, in fact, so grateful that he agreed to help with their cargo. At first, he tried to declare it impossible when de Sardet told him that they needed cargo loaded; listening to him talk of a month’s delay and the formalities required by the Port Authority, Kurt was unpleasantly reminded of the excuses the merchant had made. “So unless you’re asking me to turn smuggler and hide contraband on my vessel…”

“It’s only a few crates,” de Sardet protested.

“Well, then, they’ll have to wait. The next ship for New Serene leaves in a month.”

“Hell fire!” Kurt swore, unable to contain his frustration. “If that shipment doesn’t leave today, the commander will have my hide.”

“Captain,” de Sardet pleaded, “I understand your position, but isn’t there any way we could get those crates aboard?”

Vasco looked at her for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, I haven’t forgotten what you did for our Jonas. I’d gladly do you the favor, but our quartermaster is more stubborn than the tide. He’s convinced that thugs want to use our vessel to bring who-knows-what aboard, and because of that has placed guards to watch over the registered merchandise before it’s loaded up. All I can do is write your crates into the ship’s manifest.”

From there, de Sardet and her companions would still be required to get them to the warehouse, but half their mission was done.

“Please try to avoid roughing up those brave guards. They are my fellow Nauts, after all.”

“We wouldn’t think of it,” de Sardet promised. “Violence is the last thing we want.”

“You’ve already talked two sets of bandits down today, cousin,” Constantin chimed in. “At least, two that I know about!”

“You’re sure your quartermaster won’t cause trouble?” Kurt asked.

Vasco shrugged. “Gustavo may be a half-crazed bridge troll, but I’ll deal with him.”

“We’ll get these crates taken care of, then find the heretics,” said de Sardet. Kurt noticed that she was again saving the heretics for last, and he wondered if she was hoping they would use the extra time to escape. “We’ll need to look like Nauts for this.”

They ended up changing in the abandoned warehouse where Kurt had found the smuggler’s note. “Maybe we should wait outside until you’re done,” Kurt suggested to de Sardet. 

“Don’t be foolish!” Constantin laughed before de Sardet could reply. “It isn’t as if we’re undressing entirely, only removing our doublets. Do you think it’ll be safe to leave them here?”

“There’s a trunk, and I doubt anyone will think to come here while we’re gone,” said de Sardet. “We shouldn’t be more than a few hours at most, and I hope we won’t be nearly that long.”

Even so, Kurt turned away from de Sardet as she began to unclasp her doublet, a gesture of respect. Constantin laughed at him. “I never took you for a prude, Kurt! All the times you interrupted me in the Coin brothel, you never looked away then.”

“There was nothing to see,” he replied dryly.

“There’s nothing to see now, either,” said de Sardet; Kurt turned, and found she’d changed.

He shrugged out of his own doublet. As he reached for the sailor’s coat, he saw de Sardet was staring, though it took him a moment to realize the reason why; her gaze had fallen on a patch he’d made to the elbow of his shirt.

“The Guard doesn’t give you new-made gear, Green Blood,” he said. He couldn’t remember how old the shirt was, and he’d mended it half a dozen times. _No one expects a soldier to know how to stitch, but it’s useful for wounds and for clothes._ “Things no one sees are the last to get replaced.”

“And you’re too cheap to buy proper shirts for yourself?” Constantin scoffed.

“Do you know how much fine linen costs? Especially for a man my size? They charge for cloth by the yard, you know,” Kurt shot back. “You want me dressed in fine linen like yourself, you can pay for it out of your own pocket. As for myself, I’ll put my money into the things that matter most: boots that fit properly and keep out the water, armor that will stop a blade, a sharp sword.”

“Your sword has rust spots.”

“Which will make it more deadly, until I can get it replaced,” Kurt replied. “Good steel isn’t cheap.” He had money saved of his own; in fact, he saved most of his salary, and there was an element of truth to Constantin’s words. _I could afford a dozen fine shirts, if I wanted, even if they wouldn’t have lace on the collar or cuffs like His Highness’s._ But Kurt had always saved his money…for retirement, he told himself, though in truth he had difficulty imagining that day. _I have never been able to imagine a future beyond the Coin Guard._

He pulled on the sailor’s coat; it was a tight fit, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight in it, but he managed. Constantin had a sailor’s vest, and de Sardet a custom officer’s coat. “How does that merchant end up with so much Naut gear, I wonder?” said de Sardet. “Do the Nauts sell their surplus to him?”

“Or perhaps he provides the Nauts with their uniforms,” Kurt suggested. “It isn’t as if the Coin Guard sews its own doublets; there are contracts with suppliers for the cloth, and for the tailors who make them. I’m sure the Nauts have a similar arrangement.”

“Come here,” said de Sardet. She had the pot of dark blue ink and a brush in her hands. “We’ll all have to look the part, I’m afraid.” Her own uniform was high-collared, and she had already turned it up to hide as much of her birthmark as she could; she had also pulled down her hat, obscuring her face.

“Do you know if that’ll come off again?” Kurt asked. “If you go back to the sailor with ink on your face, I’m sure he’ll think you’re mocking him.” 

“With a little water, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Do you know what any of their tattoos mean?”

“The ones on their chin mark how they were acquired,” said Constantin. “Those who have a certain type of marking were born into the Nauts; those with another were given, as Jonas was.”

“But Jonas did not have any tattoo.”

“Because he was not of age,” said Kurt. “I don’t think any of us would pass for fifteen, Green Blood.” He glanced at Constantin. “Well, he might…”

Constantin looked offended, and de Sardet had to smile. “Come, now,” she said. “Let me try my hand at this, and then one of you can do the same for me.”

Kurt let her paint his chin, though as she did so he wondered if he’d end up with blue stubble when they washed it off. Looking at Constantin’s face, he had to admit that de Sardet had done a good job; the “tattoos” wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny, but might be enough to fool anyone who wasn’t looking too closely.

_Especially if Green Blood keeps her head down, they assume my stubble’s covering my ink, and Constantin keeps to the back of us._ He would have preferred to leave Constantin behind, but knew neither Constantin nor de Sardet would be happy with that idea.

The mission ended up being easy: while Constantin suggested that they use sleeping potions to drug the guards, and Kurt suggested attempting to find another entrance, de Sardet smiled. “I have a better idea,” she said. Approaching the guards as boldly as if she truly had been a Naut, she shouted, “Did you hear the bell?”

“The bell of the port authorities?”

“Of course! We’re not in Theleme, you know! You’d better get going! The harbor-master is ringing it! All the Nauts must rendezvous at the Port Authority immediately. Must be something serious.”

“Damn, and we didn’t hear it, either!” He looked to his companions. “Come on, we need to move fast.”

“Be off with you! I’ll watch over the warehouse in your absence.” 

As they ran off, Constantin clapped his hands together. “You were truly magnificent, cousin! Is there any truth to what you said about the harbor-bell?”

“That it’s a summons for the Nauts? Yes; I’ve heard them ring it before, when there’s rioting in the city, or a fire in the warehouses. Of course, it isn’t ringing now…but I hope it will take some time before get to the Port Authority, and longer still before they realize they’ve been duped.”

“The way is clear,” said Kurt, watching as the last of the men disappeared around a corner. “We should notify the men; they’ll need all the time they can get.”

They did so. “Do your best to be quick and quiet about it,” de Sardet cautioned the soldiers, who were also disguised as Nauts, albeit without tattoos. Unlike Kurt, de Sardet, and Constantin, these recruits were young enough that she thought they might be able to pass as cabin boys. “You won’t have much time to move it.”

She gave them directions to the warehouse, and Kurt said, “Move out! Quick steps.” He turned back to de Sardet. “Do you want to see to those heretics, or shall we return to the barracks?”

De Sardet sighed. Kurt knew what she wanted to do: delay as much as possible before finding the heretics. But they were already in Naut clothing, with Naut tattoos upon their faces, and it made no sense to change out of the garb and back into their ordinary clothing only to have to do it all over again. “We’ll seek out these heretics,” she decided.

They found them easily enough: huddled together in the eaves of another warehouse, a pair of scholarly-looking types who were unwashed and frightened, and still dressed in the clothing of Theleme. “Who is there?” the man called, while the woman caught a glimpse of them and called out, “May the Illuminated save us! Did the smuggler send you?”

De Sardet had scarcely told them of his arrest when the woman let out a cry of dismay. “Please, please have pity on our souls. We have committed no crime! We are not heretics, we are nothing more than historians!”

“In that case, why is the ambassador of Theleme so concerned about your teachings?”

They told her everything: how their histories had suggested that the writings of Saint Lucius, disciple of their founder, spoke of how that founder had been convinced to stay upon Teer Fradee by a voice that came from the depths of the earth. The inquisitors of Theleme believed that spoke of demonic influence, and was therefore blasphemous, while the scholars insisted that the meaning of the writing was plain. “The sacred texts are always difficult to interpret, but what is written is written,” the man said.

The historians spoke of hoping to reach Al Saad, where they would at least be safe from the Ordo Luminis and its inquisitors. “By entering Al Saad as clandestines, you risk being taken for spies,” de Sardet protested.

“That would be better than being burned at the stake!” the man exclaimed, and Kurt had to agree.

“I could have a word with the good Doctor Sahin, ambassador to the Bridge Alliance,” said de Sardet. “If he could be persuaded to offer you asylum, you would be saved.”

The scholars fell all over themselves trying to thank her. “Your goodness honors you! May the Illuminated forever light your path!”

From there, it was a short stop to the warehouse where they’d left their clothing; de Sardet used some alcohol from a flask Constantin was carrying to scrub the ink from their faces. “My chin isn’t blue, is it now, Green Blood?” he asked her, seeing the trace of a blue smear on her chin. “Let me get that.”

He wiped the smear away with his thumb, and saw her smile. “We can help these people. Those poor scholars…I can hardly bear to think of what might have become of them otherwise.”

“And what if Ambassador Sahin does not wish to help?” Constantin asked.

“I have helped him with his charlatan,” she said, and saw Constantin’s questioning glance. “I’ll explain while we walk.”

They made their way back to the Bridge Alliance’s embassy, where de Sardet at once explained that the charlatan had been unmasked and driven from Serene but had also slipped through her fingers; she apologized, then immediately launched into speaking of the heretics.

Sahin raised his eyebrows, but Kurt knew the man had seen an opportunity to stick a thumb into the eye of his counterpart from Theleme, and he leapt at it as soon as de Sardet finished speaking. “Where are they now?”

De Sardet told him, and Sahin reassured her he would be happy to help. “I will send an escort immediately to take them somewhere safe.”

They returned to the barracks, where de Sardet promised the quartermaster that his cargo would be aboard the ship with them. “Thank you, Your Excellency. And bravo, Kurt! The commander will be most pleased.”

Kurt was less pleased when told that he would be expected to deal with the cargo upon arriving in New Serene, but he knew he had no choice. “I wish you a safe and pleasant voyage, Your Excellency, Kurt. Good luck!”

On their way out, they glimpsed the so-called heretics, being escorted by a group of soldiers from the Bridge Alliance. “Your Excellency!” the woman cried out. “We owe you our lives! We are eternally grateful!”

Constantin puffed his chest, looking ready to take credit for everything, but de Sardet responded first. “It was nothing,” de Sardet said, looking uncomfortable. “I hope you won’t have too much difficulty adapting to your new country.”

The man rushed up to her. “Please, allow me to give you this,” he said, pressing a coin purse into her hand. “It isn’t much, but it is all that we possess.”

“It isn’t necessary,” de Sardet protested.

“It is what we were to pay the smuggler,” he said. “Ambassador Sahin’s men have already promised to grant us all we require in our new homeland.” He lowered his voice. “Besides, I do not trust that the ambassador would not take it for himself, as payment for sending us to our new home. I would rather you have it.”

“We still trust the Illuminated will provide for us, even now,” the woman added. “Please, Lady de Sardet, take it as a sign of our gratitude. I know you have no need for it, but you are most deserving. Farewell!”

“Farewell,” de Sardet answered. She looked down at the coin pouch, clearly uncomfortable with having accepted it, but sighed and tied it to her belt.

“You have a good heart, Green Blood,” Kurt told her. “It’ll be the end of you, but that doesn’t bother me! I wouldn’t have wanted those poor buggers to end up on a burning pyre.”

“It seems I’m not the only one with a tender heart,” she said, half-teasing.

“Burning is a bad way to go. The worst, I think.” Kurt shuddered as he remembered the burnings he’d seen in Theleme. _It’s a punishment I’d reserve for the worst of the worst, not a pair of poor scholars whose only crime was to read some saint’s scribblings differently from their bishop wants to interpret it._

They returned to the ambassador of Theleme; as with Sahin, Constantin waited outside, since de Sardet had already said goodbyes on his behalf and neither of them wanted to explain why he hadn’t been with her earlier. Kurt listened as de Sardet made her excuses, making it seem as if the ambassador of the Bridge Alliance had gotten to the heretics before she had ever laid eyes on them.

Antonius believed her, thanking her profusely for her efforts before wishing her good fortune and sending her on her way.

“And that is everything,” she sighed as they made their way back outside. “We are ready to depart.”

“At last!” Constantin said. “Shall we go tell the enchanting captain?”

“Yes,” de Sardet said, and Kurt thought she looked more heavy-hearted than she wanted to admit. “It’s time to leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The port bell is actually a possible quest option (Intuition 1) that I don't believe anyone actually uses, so I opted to showcase it here. (You don't have to have Naut gear on, either, and I went back and forth over whether or not they ought to don it, but decided on it for various reasons - they were expecting to need it and had already gone to the trouble of acquiring it, and I'm pretty sure in reality, vs. in the smaller world of the game, the heretics wouldn't be hiding in the same warehouse that you coincidentally need to smuggle merchandise out of.) Similarly, the "Vasco helps with the manifest if you've helped with Jonas" option was one I didn't learn about for a while. Finally, this concludes the Serene quests; hopefully, the chronology of them made sense! (If you think about it, this is one very busy day for De Sardet.)


	17. The Great Departure

Vasco was ready for them. “This way,” he said. “To my ship.” Kurt thought that he over-emphasized the last word just a little, and saw de Sardet wince.

He turned and began making his way down to the _Sea Horse_. Constantin, de Sardet, and Kurt followed him; Kurt couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. _All our duties done._ De Sardet had done her duties to both the ambassadors of the Bridge Alliance and Theleme; she’d helped Vasco find his cabin boy; she’d repaired the damage Constantin had done in the tavern and found her errant cousin; and had helped Kurt load the Coin Guard’s merchandise onto the ship. _Her uncle will be pleased with her diplomatic capabilities, and Commander Torsten won’t have cause to skin me alive._

They moved from the Port Quarter to the docks. _As soon as we’re aboard the_ Sea Horse _, I’ll be able to relax._ He wasn’t worried about Alexandra de Sardet, but Kurt didn’t think he’d let his guard down until Constantin d’Orsay had boarded the ship. _Until then, I’ll have to worry that he’ll run off again, or fall in the harbor, or find himself in some sort of trouble._ He’d already caught the look in Constantin’s eye as he’d introduced himself to Captain Vasco, and thought he’d caught a similar look in the Naut captain’s eye as he’d responded. _As long as he’s aboard the ship, I don’t care if he spends the entire voyage in the captain’s bunk._

Kurt was already thinking about the comforts of his own bunk when his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a sailor – not from the _Sea Horse_ , but from another of the Naut ships in the harbor, a man who rushed to the edge of the ship and shouted, “The beast has awoken!”

Constantin would have drawn closer, but Kurt put an arm out reflexively, holding him back. He might have thought the man was drunk, except for Vasco’s reaction. “Those conniving, piss-distilling Bridge-building liars! The creature was supposed to be out for days! They’ll pay for this!” 

Even as Vasco spoke, there came a terrible roar from within the ship, and splinters flew; it looked, Kurt thought, like an enormous fist was striking the vessel from within. “What the hell manner of cargo are you transporting?” he demanded.

“Help! We need ropes! We must contain it! Help!” The sailor’s desperate cries from the ship drew his attention, just as another blow struck the ship from within, sending splintered wood flying.

Constantin charged forward, past him. “Come now! Let’s lend them a hand!”

Even as he spoke, the side of the ship exploded outward, sending splintered wood flying – and suddenly, it seemed that an enormous portion of the ship was missing, replaced by the creature bursting forth from its hold, an impossibly huge beast of pure muscle, tree bark, claws, and teeth.

Constantin ducked, using both hands to shield his head, as Kurt stumbled backwards, caught off-balance as the creature crawled forward, shaking off the remnants of its broken chains. It roared and snarled, and Kurt realized that Constantin was directly in its path, gaping at it as it moved toward him.

“Watch out!” he shouted, but it seemed Constantin didn’t hear him: he was transfixed, staring. “Take a step back, sir!”

Constantin straightened and obeyed, but slowly, as if caught in a trance. Even as he moved, the mast of the ship shifted and broke, falling.

Kurt moved, but de Sardet was faster: she grabbed her cousin, interposing herself between him and the falling mast, and shoved him out of the way. As Constantin went flying, he fell into Kurt, knocking both of them back; Kurt landed hard on his back, Constantin on top of him, taking the wind from his lungs. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of de Sardet, stumbling backward; the creature stumbled too, caught by the mast, and an enormous cloud of dust obscured them both from his vision.

Captain Vasco pulled Constantin to his feet; Kurt scrambled to his own, getting in front of Constantin. Even through the dust, he could hear de Sardet’s desperate shout: “Kurt! Captain! Keep my cousin safe!”

“To hell with that,” said Constantin, starting forward. For a moment, Kurt was tempted to let him: de Sardet was in danger, and she’d fare better with companions helping her in the fight.

Then he thought of Constantin in that warehouse: still drunk, holding a bottle and singing, stinking of stale beer and bad wine. _I doubt he’s sobered up entirely; he’s in no shape to fight._ He’d been slow to react when the monster had burst forth from the ship’s hold, and off-balance when he’d stumbled away; if de Sardet hadn’t helped him, Kurt shuddered to think of what might have happened.

“You’re in no shape to fight,” he told Constantin, taking him by the arm before he could charge into the fray. Constantin wasn’t in the mood for being told no; he tried to push his way past, and Kurt had to grab his other arm. For a moment, they grappled, and Constantin’s expression combined fury and betrayal.

“You have to let me fight!”

“You’re in no shape for it,” Kurt said. “You’ll get her killed, do you understand? She can’t fight that thing and look after you.” He tried to hand Constantin to Vasco. “Get him somewhere safe. I’ll help Green Blood.”

“No,” Constantin protested. “If you’re fighting, I should fight, too.”

“You’re still drunk.”

“I’m sober enough for this!”

Kurt wrestled him back. “You’re not. Look.” As they watched, de Sardet barely managed to dodge the creature, ducking under its arm and freezing it in place. It seemed to shake off her stasis spells quickly; whether that was due to its thick hide or some sort of innate magic resistance, Kurt wasn’t sure, but it refused to remain still for more than a few seconds.

It didn’t matter: as he watched, she hit it with a barrage of spells, one after the other, summoning her fury to carry her through when her concentration began to falter. “Your gun!” he called out, hoping she would hear; de Sardet carried a pistol with her, but almost never used it in battle, preferring her magic for long-range attacks and her blade for short-range ones.

Still, Kurt knew the weapon was loaded; he insisted she carry it, and take good care of it, if only for use in emergencies. _Now is such a time if ever there was one._ He’d trained de Sardet, and could tell when she was getting fatigued; now, he knew she had little left in the way of magical power, and was too drained to attack. _Use your gun._

But, instead, she froze the creature, then uncorked and downed a magic potion; her strength replenished, she hit it with another chain of attacks before it fell back, clearly wounded.

“Green Blood! Your pistol!” Kurt called out again, hoping she would hear. If she did, she didn’t acknowledge him; all her attention was on the creature, which was backing away, on its hands and knees.

De Sardet advanced. At last, she remembered her pistol; taking it from its holster, she shot the wounded creature in the eye, and it fell dead.

Kurt rushed forward. _I should have told her to protect Constantin. I should have fought the damn thing myself._ “Green Blood!” he shouted, his sword still in hand. “How do you fare?”

“Fine, fine,” she said. “It is dead.”

He reached for her arm, worried, but she shook him off. “Are you wounded?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “Your lessons have proven effective.”

Their morning in the practice yard seemed a lifetime ago. _I’m no longer a child,_ she had protested.

 _You defend yourself well, Green Blood. One would think you had a proper master-at-arms._ Staring at the dead creature, he could hardly contest that.

 _The best,_ she had replied _._ That thought flooded him with guilt. _Should I have let Constantin go to her aid? Should we have fought it together, the three of us?_ With the condition he was in after a night out carousing, Constantin would have been more a liability than an asset, but he knew that going to her aid would have meant having to allow him to follow. _If he’d been killed, d’Orsay would have had my head._ Kurt had protected Constantin d’Orsay since he was eleven years old, and he cared for both his charges more than he would ever have admitted to either of them, but he was fonder of Alexandra de Sardet than her cousin. _I should have protected her._ He’d left her alone on the field, trusting in her competence, and though she had proven him right, he still cursed himself for it. _If anything had happened to her, I’d never have forgiven myself._

“I’ve never seen a beast this size,” he breathed. “It’s quite extraordinary.” He started to circle it, still wary. _I want to make sure it’s dead._

Constantin came running up. “Cousin,” he said, enthused, as if he’d been watching a pair of gladiators in the Coin Arena instead of watching his cousin fight for her life. “What a fight! You were illustrious!”

De Sardet shook her head. “I’m not of the same mind. I had the feeling it was already weakened.” She swept her hand at it. “I did nothing more than finish it off.”

Constantin refused to believe it. “Your humility remains a constant, but believe me. That battle was absolutely epic!”

Kurt nudged the creature with his boot, then crouched at its side. _It’s really dead._ He had believed it was; after all, de Sardet had shot it in the eye at point-blank range.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked de Sardet. “I saw you with those healing potions during the battle.”

“I’m fine,” she promised. “Truly, Kurt, I am.” She smoothed down her doublet. “You see? It isn’t even torn.”

“You even kept your hat on,” said Constantin. “Amazing! Truly, cousin, you are a marvel.”

Captain Vasco approached, looking impressed. “I would not have expected a noblewoman of the Congregation to fight so well,” he admitted. “You have some talent in magic, I see, as well as with a blade.”

“One of the diplomats from Theleme noticed when I was a child,” she said. “He said I had a natural gift, and encouraged my uncle to help me develop my talents.” De Sardet smiled, remembering the kindly man, a priest who’d served as an attaché to Cardinal Antonius. “He had tried to teach me himself, but I’m afraid I was too small to take much of an interest then. It wasn’t until around the time that Kurt became our master-at-arms that I started with magic lessons.”

“Did you teach her?” Vasco asked.

“Me?” Kurt laughed. “Hardly. I’ve no talent for magic.”

“But he did encourage me,” de Sardet said. “He said that I could use it to help augment my skill with a sword or mace.”

“And so you did,” said Vasco, looking at the dead creature. “I’d heard rumors of these creatures – sailors’ tales, from the taverns on the island – but I’ve never seen one before. I didn’t think they existed. I can’t believe the admiralty agreed to transport one.” He looked at the wrecked ship before them. “I’d never agree to take one aboard the _Sea Horse_. It’s amazing they made it this far. Four months with that thing on board.”

“I almost pity it,” said de Sardet; she crouched down next to the creature, reaching out a hand. “It was wounded and afraid, and died so far from its home…it must have been terribly confused. It seemed intelligent.”

“And dangerous,” said Kurt. “I’m glad you’re all right, Green Blood.”

“Was there ever any question of that?” Constantin laughed, and Kurt realized that, to him, there wasn’t. _He was worried in the moment, but now I’d say he truly believes what he’s saying._

“Captain,” de Sardet said, rising as Captain Vasco approached. “Have you spoken with anyone from that ship? Is everyone all right?”

“Thank you for inquiring. I wish I had better news,” Vasco replied. “I’ve spoken with one of the sailors from the _Red Tide,_ and they say that they’ve taken casualties. Three men dead, and another half-dozen injured.”

“Is there anything we can help with?”

“I’m afraid not. The admiralty will take care of the ship; thankfully, the damage looks to be above water, so they won’t have to worry about her sinking.” Vasco looked at the gaping hole in the ship, the splintered wood all around them. “I’d hate to be that captain. To see your ship hurt like this, the crew dead and wounded…”

“My sincerest condolences, Captain,” Constantin spoke up. His earlier enthusiasm was now somewhat muted, and Kurt had to wonder if the realization that de Sardet might have been injured or killed had taken hold. “That is truly terrible.”

“It could have been worse,” Kurt said. “If that thing had gotten loose while they were at sea…”

“They’d all have been dead, and the _Red Tide_ consigned to the depths,” Vasco agreed. “If that had to happen, they’re lucky it happened in the harbor.”

“Did my father ask to have that taken aboard, do you think?” Constantin asked. “Why would he want one of those creatures shipped back to Serene? What would he have done with it?”

“I hardly know,” said de Sardet. “Having samples of the island’s flora and fauna brought to Serene is one thing, but a creature this size…”

“He’s always having them bring home strange specimens from the island,” said Constantin.

“Yes,” de Sardet agreed distantly. “That’s how my father died, on an expedition to Teer Fradee. Mother said he was helping to survey the island, hoping to find a suitable place for the new settlement.”

“Well, no one’s dying on this expedition,” Kurt told her.

“I’m sorry that your people died to bring this monster here, Captain,” said Constantin. “If it was done on my father’s orders, I hope your admiral will make him pay for it.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Vasco, looking surprised at Constantin’s enthusiasm. “But we will not be around to pursue the matter.”

“This won’t delay our departure?” de Sardet asked, surprised.

“No. There’s nothing we can do here, and our orders were clear: the prince wants us on our way with the tide. As the hour is already late, and the time and tide wait for no man…” Vasco swept his hand toward his own ship. “Follow me.”

Constantin moved toward the _Sea Horse_ immediately, but de Sardet took a last, lingering look at the dead creature and blasted ship, then glanced back at the harbor.

“Green Blood…” Kurt began; the sound of his voice seemed to shake her from her stupor, and she followed, moving toward the _Sea Horse_.

When they reached the gangplank, Captain Vasco swept a hand before them grandly, ushering them aboard. “Madam, gentlemen…”

That was all the invitation Constantin needed: he bounded up the gangplank and onto the ship, laughing wildly as he swung his arms out, spinning around as he shouted for joy.

Vasco raised his eyebrows, amused. “Your cousin’s enthusiasm is most impressive,” he told de Sardet with a smile.

“This journey is his long-awaited chance to prove his worth…he has a demanding father,” de Sardet explained.

Kurt looked up at the city; he could see the palace atop its hill in the distance. “More likely, he’s just happy to be free of this hornet’s nest.”

De Sardet glanced at the palace as well before turning her gaze back to Vasco. “I definitely know I am, that’s certain!” She moved past the Naut captain, following her cousin aboard.

Kurt glanced at the captain before following her up. Vasco followed them aboard, still smiling.

“This is tremendous! Isn’t this amazing? It’s enough to make you wish you had been born a Naut, is it not?” The sailors moved around Constantin as he waxed rhapsodically about the beauty of the ship, its size and power, the voyage that was to come.

De Sardet was much quieter. Kurt could tell she was impressed by the ship, but she had never been as exuberant or as loud as her cousin; instead, she watched everything, staring up at the furled sails, the general bustle both in the rigging and on the deck, and the movements of the people around them.

“It is truly a wonder,” she admitted. She tried to move, but hadn’t yet accustomed herself to the movements of the ship beneath her; she took a few unsteady steps before stumbling.

Kurt caught her arm. “Careful, Green Blood. They’ll think you’re drunk.”

“It’s a wonder Constantin hasn’t fallen over,” she replied. He was still whirling around with enthusiasm, staring up at the sky; as they watched, he nearly bumped into a sailor who was carrying a crate. “How is it that you aren’t falling over your own feet?”

“I’ve been aboard a ship before. It’s been a long while, but I remember a bit about keeping your balance. Keep your head up, stay above deck but away from the prow if you’re feeling seasick, and follow the movement of the boat.”

“It’s a ship,” Captain Vasco said, sounding mildly annoyed, “but it’s good advice. You’ll have your sea legs in a few days. Until then, there will be a bucket in your cabin if you need to use it.”

“I would hope not,” said de Sardet. She looked to Constantin, who was running up and down the length of the ship, watching eagerly. “Is there anywhere we ought to stand, Captain? I wouldn’t want to be in your way, but I would like to watch our departure.”

“Over there should suffice,” said Vasco. A sudden movement caught his attention, and he turned and shouted at one of his crew, “Careful, there! Watch the prince!”

The crewman didn’t hear, but Constantin did, ducking before he could be knocked overboard. “My apologies, Captain,” he said, rushing over. “This enchanting vessel has captivated me entirely!”

That drew another look of amusement from the Naut. “Don’t fall overboard. I’d hate to have to inform the prince you’d drowned before we left harbor.”

“My father wouldn’t miss me,” Constantin said darkly, but soon brightened. “Though I’m sure I wouldn’t be left to drown. Kurt would fish me out.”

Vasco eyed Kurt. “You can swim?” 

“I am a man of many talents,” Kurt replied dryly.

“Kurt taught us both,” said de Sardet.

“Where? Your harbor is not fit for a swim.”

“My father has a palace inland, on Orsay Lake,” said Constantin. “We would summer there sometimes, if there was contagion in the city.”

“Orsay Lake,” Vasco repeated, and Kurt could see what he was thinking: _His father’s palace. A lake named after his family. ‘Summering’ as an action, like swimming or fighting._ Constantin said the words as if they were nothing, but Kurt could tell they made the Naut captain wary, a reminder that the nobles he was transporting were of a different breed entirely.

“It is still water, and still clear, a rarity in the Congregation,” added de Sardet. “So many of our rivers and lakes are filled with filth. It’s truly lovely.” She looked wistful, and Kurt could see a twinge of homesickness in her eyes as she looked again toward the palace on the hill. “My mother spent a great deal of time with me there when I was very young. She was never fond of the court.”

“I’ve heard the waters on Teer Fradee are clear,” Kurt offered, hoping the change of subject would provide a distraction.

“They are,” Vasco said. “The seas are a clear blue, lighter than they are here, and on a clear day you can see schools of fish beneath the water. When we get closer to the island, you may see porpoises or schools of dolphins; sometimes they will follow the ships. They’re playful creatures, and clever too.”

“Creatures after my own heart,” said Constantin. “All of this sounds utterly wonderful, Captain. Every day aboard a ship must be some new adventure. I cannot wait to embark!”

“Well, you’ll need wait no longer,” Vasco said. “It’s time to go.” He turned and moved across the deck with a captain’s authority. As the sails unfurled, he called out, “Stations, lads! Weigh anchor and ready her to wear! Lively now! Lively! Catch me a wind!” He pointed up at the sails, then toward the anchor; with a great clanking sound, it came up from the depths.

“This is it,” Constantin breathed as the ship began to move. “The great departure.” He beamed up at the city. “Goodbye, Father, and good riddance!”

De Sardet wasn’t smiling. “Goodbye,” she murmured as the ship began to move out of the harbor.


	18. Aboard the Sea Horse

Kurt, Alexandra de Sardet, and Constantin d’Orsay settled into their new quarters on the ship easily. There were several private passenger cabins, meant for dignitaries; as son of the Prince d’Orsay and the new governor, Constantin took the largest one, while de Sardet took the second-largest. Sir de Courcillon had another, which he retreated to almost immediately; from the sounds of retching and misery that were clearly audible from outside the cabin, Kurt realized that the tutor was not fond of sea-travel.

Kurt had not been sure of his own accommodations, but expected to sleep wherever the crew made bunk; he had only ever traveled on a troop transport, not a cargo vessel, and the transports had been fitted with racks of bunk beds instead of cargo holds.

_I just have to find where they stowed my gear._ Kurt had very little to call his own, but his uniforms, weapons, and a few old tokens were all in his trunk, which had been brought to the docks that morning on the wagon that had also been laden with his charges’ gear. _If they’ve managed to bring two dozen trunks for Constantin and lost mine…_

“What are you doing down here, sir?” asked one of the sailors. _Flavia_ , Kurt remembered; she was one of the cabin boy’s friends, who de Sardet had questioned when searching for him.

“Looking for my gear,” he replied. “You haven’t seen it, have you? A worn leather trunk, marked with the arms of the Coin Guard, and a pair of leather tags around each handle? My name is on it.”

She gave him an odd look. “Your trunk is in your cabin. Why would it be down here?”

“My cabin?”

“Well, where did you expect to sleep? You’re a passenger and a guest. The _Sea Horse_ has passenger cabins enough; it seems we’re always transporting lords or rich merchants along with their cargo.” Flavia gestured for him to follow her. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

She led him to a private cabin near the others; it adjoined de Sardet’s, and was across the hall from Sir de Courcillon’s. “Here you are, sir. It’s not quite as fine as the two best, or as large as the captain’s cabin, but it’s every bit as good as the older lord’s.”

It was, in fact, very nearly as large as Kurt’s room in the Prince’s Palace in Serene. “It’s more than fine enough for the likes of me,” he told her. There was a narrow bed on one side of the room, a desk and chair on the other; the desk and bed both looked as if they were bolted to the floor. One corner of the room had a washbasin and chamber pot, and there was actually a woven carpet laid over the deck, done in the rich geometric pattern that was a noted specialty of certain cities in the Bridge Alliance.

His trunk was at the foot of the bed. “Thank you,” he told Flavia, turning away; he expected her to leave, but then heard her speak.

“I ought to be the one thanking you, sir. Jonas said that you helped the legate find him. He’s a dear friend, and as close as a brother. I don’t know what I’d have done if we’d had to leave port without him.”

“You should thank Green Blood for that,” he said. “Legate de Sardet, I mean. She’s the one who did all the work: questioning Lady Fontaine about Jonas’s whereabouts, finding out how your contracts work, persuading Sir Fontaine to let him go.”

“I don’t know that I could approach her, sir…her or the governor. If you’d thank them for me, I’d be very much obliged.”

“I will, but you could thank her yourself…or even the governor, for that matter. They’re both friendly enough.”

“Jonas said she was very kind,” Flavia said. “And she was friendly enough when she spoke to Lauro and me. But there’s a difference between answering her questions and just going up to her to talk to her, you know?”

“I’ll thank her,” Kurt promised.

That night, as Kurt had predicted, the legate and the governor were both invited to the captain’s cabin for dinner; he was, however, surprised when de Sardet came by his cabin to inform him that he was also invited.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” de Sardet replied with a smile. “This isn’t Serene, Kurt.” She paused. “You know, I don’t think I can remember ever seeing you eat.”

“Well, don’t worry. I know how to use a knife and fork.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She gestured for him to follow her. “After you.”

Constantin was waiting for them outside the cabin. As Vasco ushered them in, Kurt saw that the captain’s cabin was truly spacious: it had room enough for a desk and chair and a small dining table, and there was a privacy screen in one corner that Kurt suspected hid a bed and washbasin. The table was set with a tablecloth, pair of wax candles, and silver dishes.

“This is truly the height of luxury!” Constantin said, clapping his hands together. 

“It is a courtesy we always afford to our noble passengers,” Vasco said, somewhat stiffly; Kurt suspected that he couldn’t tell if Constantin was being sarcastic. “Breakfast will be served in your cabin, and we do not take a formal midday meal, but one of my crew will always bring you something from the mess, if you desire it. Dinners will be here. The fare may not be what you’re accustomed to, but I hope you will find it palatable enough.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” said de Sardet. “I must confess, I’m terribly hungry.”

“I’m sure you are!” Constantin exclaimed. “Killing that monster must have helped you work up a hearty appetite.”

 _Did she eat anything this morning?_ Kurt hadn’t thought of it until now, but he realized that it was entirely possible that de Sardet’s last meal had been the banquet the night before. _She hardly touched her food then._ He knew she’d risen early to sit for Sir de Cortone, and she’d been heartsick enough about saying goodbye to her mother that he had to wonder if she’d eaten much then. _We certainly didn’t have time for it today. Between dealing with that charlatan, finding those heretics, saving that Naut cabin boy, and smuggling those crates of merchandise, we’ve scarcely had time to think._

His own stomach growled, and he watched eagerly as the ship’s cook came in, rolling a cart laden with covered plates.

“Your valor was truly amazing, cousin,” Constantin told de Sardet as the cook set their plates before them. “I still remember how terrified I was, seeing that creature burst through the side of that ship as if it was made of matchsticks! If not for you, I am sure I would be dead.”

De Sardet shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “I told you, it was already wounded, weakened from a long voyage.”

“To think, that beast has been lying asleep in the harbor for days! I don’t believe that any ship has newly docked in Serene Harbor in the last week.”

“The _Red Tide_ came into port ten days ago,” said Vasco. “It was supposed to be out again sooner, but it had taken damage on the crossing and needed repairs.”

“Repairs,” Kurt echoed as the cook took a decanter of wine from the cart and began pouring it out to each of them: a deep red, and what appeared to be a finer vintage than any he was used to drinking. “Because of the beast.”

Vasco nodded, looking uncomfortable, and Kurt pressed the point. “You knew about that monster.”

“I knew it was aboard the _Red Tide_ , yes. We captains talk. It wasn’t my decision to bring it into the harbor.”

“But you knew it was there,” Kurt persisted. “And you didn’t think to warn us?”

“It was supposed to be asleep. Who would I have warned? And why?”

Constantin interrupted before Kurt could reply. “Did my father hire you to bring it? What would he want with such a creature?”

“The creature was not destined for the Congregation,” Vasco replied. “It was meant for the Bridge Alliance.”

“Then why bring it here?” Kurt asked.

“Serene Harbor is our first chance to make landfall after the crossing,” Vasco replied. “The _Red Tide_ came from the port of Al Saad, and was transporting an expedition of scholars from the Bridge Alliance.” He grimaced. “I spoke to the captain of the _Red Tide_. He said those lying potion-mixers had promised him that the beast would be out until they reached the port at Al Qadir. They were giving it sleeping potions in its meat.”

“Sleeping potions,” Kurt echoed. “You’d let them truss up that thing in your hold for months on end and trust that little drink would keep it out cold?”

“ _I_ wouldn’t,” Vasco said. “At least, I would not _want_ to do so. But orders are orders, and if the Admiralty commands, we must obey. I’m sure that Captain Marco didn’t like it any better than I would have, but we all have orders we don’t like from time to time.”

“Alas, I know precisely what you mean,” Constantin said, sighing theatrically.

Vasco gave him a skeptical look. “With all respect, sir, you are a prince of the Congregation. What do you know of obeying orders?”

“I am only here because I have been ordered,” Constantin replied. “My father commanded me to take the governor’s posting, and I had to obey. Just as my dear cousin was required to become legate. Oh, my father’s cruelty truly knows no bounds!”

Kurt gave de Sardet a look of concern; while they’d stayed busy that day, he knew Constantin’s comments were sure to bring her mother to mind.

“And, since you’ve mentioned it, you don’t have to call me sir, Captain,” Constantin went on. “In fact, I’d much rather you not. We’re all going to be aboard this delightful vessel for the next several months, and the formality will surely grow tedious.”

“While I would like to extend the same regard to you, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to continue calling me captain, at least in front of my crew,” Vasco replied. “Certain formalities of rank have to be maintained while on a voyage.”

Constantin deflated, but managed another smile. “Very well, Captain…though it may cause some confusion. We’ll have two captains aboard!”

“Excuse me?” Vasco asked; Kurt was amused by how offended the sailor looked by the thought.

“Kurt is a captain of the Coin Guard,” de Sardet said, intervening.

“A captain of what, precisely?”

“Of the guard at New Serene,” Kurt offered. “I have standing orders for the protection of both Governor d’Orsay and Legate de Sardet.”

“It seems odd, to call yourself a captain when you do not have a crew.”

“Just as it seems odd to me for a man who calls himself a captain to never have taken enemy fire,” Kurt replied.

“Have you? It seems a life watching over two nobles in a palace would not provide much of an opportunity for action.”

“Do I look like I’ve spent my life lying about relaxing?” Kurt rubbed a hand over the scar on his chin. “By the time I was twenty, I’d served in two wars.”

“But the Congregation has been at peace.”

“I wasn’t serving in the Congregation then. I saw action with the Green-Azure Regiment while they were at war with Verrezia, back when Theleme was using proxies to fight its war; then, when things heated up, I served with the Red Sun Regiment, fighting against the Bridge. After that, I transferred to the Blue-Silver and became the Prince d’Orsay’s master-at-arms.”

“You fought for the Bridge Alliance and Theleme?”

Kurt heard the question in Vasco’s voice, and didn’t like it. “The Coin Guard took contracts from both.”

“And you had no qualms about fighting for the Bridge one day and Theleme the next?”

“No,” Kurt said flatly. “I went where I was ordered, and served both nations to the best of my ability.”

“Just as Kurt has served us ably in the Congregation,” de Sardet intervened again. “He trained both Constantin and myself on the use of arms, and he has protected us both since we were children.”

“If you are indeed responsible for training the legate, I suppose I must congratulate you,” Vasco told him. He looked to de Sardet. “You fought well. I would not have expected it from a noble.”

“I trained with the best,” de Sardet replied warmly.

“Kurt has always been a most diligent teacher,” Constantin agreed. “Although I think we’re of an age to have left our teachers behind.”

“Constantin, that’s unkind,” de Sardet protested.

“It’s all right, Green Blood. He’s already made it very clear how he feels.” Kurt took another bite of food, and was surprised at how good it was; they were still close enough to shore that the provisions were fresh, and the meat was well-cooked, the vegetables seasoned. “Though your old school-teacher may be more prone to having his feelings hurt. After all, I’m under orders, and getting paid; he’s left his home out of the goodness of his heart.”

“I pity him. I looked in on him before we came to supper, but he had no desire to eat; he’s still very sick.”

“I’ll have the ship’s surgeon look in on him if he doesn’t gain his sea legs by tomorrow,” said Vasco. “There are some medicines she’ll be able to give him.”

“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Sir de Courcillon will be one of Constantin’s advisors, but he was our tutor growing up, and his advice has always been invaluable. I’m very glad he’s coming along, too; it would be much harder to travel to Teer Fradee if there were no familiar faces around us.”

“By the time that we arrive, you’ll be one of those, I hope,” Constantin told Vasco. “You’ll have to tell us everything you can about this enchanting vessel, Captain. I’m already in love.”

That drew a smile from the Naut captain. “The _Sea Horse_ is a cargo vessel,” he said. “It’s an eighty-footer, and can support a crew of up to thirty-five, though we’re only two dozen at present. It’s a little different from a cargo hauler like the _Red Tide_ , because the upper deck is fitted out with passenger cabins instead of being purely cargo space; we’re used to transporting dignitaries like yourselves from Gacane to Teer Fradee.”

The rest of the dinner was spent in listening to Captain Vasco describe his ship, lovingly and at length, while Constantin asked questions, enthralled. De Sardet also listened with polite but genuine interest, but Kurt could see that Constantin’s interest was more in the _Sea Horse_ ’s captain than the _Sea Horse_ itself.

At the end of the night, Constantin insisted on lingering behind in the captain’s cabin to continue asking questions, leaving Kurt to escort de Sardet out.

“I had no idea that your cousin was so interested in ships,” Kurt said dryly. “Did you warn him not to say ‘boats?’”

“I still don’t know the difference.”

“You ought to ask Flavia. She wanted to thank you for saving Jonas.”

“I’m glad he was reunited with his family.” De Sardet looked sad. “Though I do pity his mother. She must miss him terribly.”

Kurt knew it wasn’t Jonas’s mother she was thinking of. “She would be glad that he’s where he belongs. All parents want what’s best for their children, even if it hurts.”

De Sardet nodded, and he could tell her eyes were wet. “Thank you,” she said. “But…I miss her already.”

“I know, Green Blood. I know.”


	19. A Warm Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's been waiting for the Kurt/de Sardet to start!

It had been warm when they left Serene, but the first weeks of their voyage were unseasonably hot; the weather was warmer than it should have been, more reminiscent of the latest days of summer than the earliest.

“Do you remember your geography lessons? We cross from the northern part of the world into the southern as we travel to Teer Fradee,” Sir de Courcillon told her; it was one of the first times he’d been out of his cabin, and he still looked remarkably queasy despite the relative stillness of the seas. “When it is summer in Serene, it is winter in New Serene, and vice versa.”

“So we will arrive on Teer Fradee in winter?”

“At the end of winter, or perhaps in the earliest part of spring,” de Courcillon replied, “depending, of course, on the length of the voyage.”

“Three to three and a half months,” de Sardet recalled.

De Courcillon clapped his hands together, looking pleased. “Precisely!” He tugged at his collar. “I fear that I did not pack appropriately for the voyage. I expected the sea breezes would be cooler, and this weather is terrifically warm for the season.”

He was right. It was a hot day, the sun baking down, and it wasn’t long before the crew began to shed articles of clothing: jackets, cravats, and eventually even shirts began to come off. De Sardet stripped down to her linen shirt, removing both doublet and cravat; Sir de Courcillon cleared his throat uncomfortably and announced he would be retiring belowdecks, but none of the Nauts seemed to care.

 _It’s no more than any of the women are doing,_ she thought, looking at Flavia and another of the crew whose name she had not yet learned; both wore only a thin linen shirt and breeches, and both had rolled their shirtsleeves up as high as they would go. _I envy the men their ability to remove their shirts entirely._

“Here, cousin,” Constantin said; he’d kept his shirt on, though it was open farther than de Sardet could have dared. “I brought you something to drink. To think, in Serene, we might be eating flavored ices and fanning ourselves…though I must admit, there are certain benefits to being aboard this ship.”

She followed his gaze: Vasco was speaking with Kurt. Both were stripped to the waist, and she found herself staring. _I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kurt so…informally dressed._ He was broad-shouldered and muscular, the strength in his shoulders and arms evident, and she found her gaze trailing down from his chest to his abdomen, admiring his body.

“He is very handsome, isn’t he?” Constantin asked, and de Sardet pulled her eyes up and turned to stare at him in astonishment.

“He is, but…I would not have thought that you would have thought so,” she managed.

“Why not? You know I have always admired beauty in both men and women…and you must admit, he is truly magnificent.” Constantin turned his gaze back to the two captains. “I was surprised to see that the Nauts tattoo their chest and torso as well as their faces…do you think those tattoos go even farther down?”

“Tattoos,” de Sardet echoed, and laughed despite herself. _He’s talking about Captain Vasco._ She looked to the Naut captain: he was equally fit, though not as broad-shouldered, slimmer and more agile than the captain of the Coin Guard. In contrast to Kurt, it looked as if he had little or no chest hair at all, but he did have a number of Naut tattoos traced over his pectoral muscles, along with several long, thin lines that curved down the length of his abdomen and disappeared into his trousers. “Perhaps you ought to ask.”

“Do you think he would show me?” Constantin’s eyes lit up, and she shook her head fondly.

“Oh, Constantin.”

“What? It is three and a half months to Teer Fradee, my fair cousin. You can hardly expect me to go without the pleasure of company for so long!” He smiled. “Unless you are interested, of course. If you would prefer the pleasure of the captain’s company, I would certainly leave him to you and seek out one of the sailors. He is charming, to be sure, but I cannot remember the last time I heard you admire someone.”

De Sardet turned red. “I promise you, I have no romantic interest in Captain Vasco.”

Constantin looked downcast. “Are you sure?” he said, and he actually sounded disappointed. “You know, we are far from my father’s eye. There are no palace gossips here, and if it is your reputation that is your concern, well…I would never tell.”

“You know I’ve never been one to want a casual affair.”

“Or to give your heart lightly, yes,” Constantin said. “But it might be good for you! The pleasure of a good bedmate is not to be underestimated.” His gaze drifted to Kurt. “If it’s our watchful captain’s eye you’re worried about, well, he is my hireling now. I could order him not to say a thing.”

“I’m not worried about that,” de Sardet said, then paused, taken aback by the way Constantin had referred to him; she thought of Kurt as more a friend than an employee. “Kurt would never say anything to hurt my reputation. He cares about us, you know that.”

“He’s no fun,” Constantin replied. “You know, I think he could use the company of a pretty sailor on this voyage.”

Alexandra de Sardet couldn’t explain why that made her feel as unhappy as it did. _Kurt is a grown man,_ she reminded herself. _He’s undoubtedly had the company of dozens of women. Courtesans, fellow members of the Coin Guard…I’m sure there are plenty of Naut women on this ship who would be more than happy to share his bed._

The thought hadn’t occurred to her before, but it made her frown. Constantin saw, and misinterpreted. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stop my pursuit of the enchanting Captain Vasco?” he asked. “If it truly makes you unhappy, my dear cousin, you need only say the word. Even if you’re only thinking of pursuing a romance—”

“No, not at all,” she replied. “Truly, Constantin. If you feel he will make you happy, then it will make me happy for you to do so. I have neither the interest nor the intent.” Again, she smiled. “And I do believe that, even if I did, Captain Vasco hasn’t forgiven me for calling his ship a boat.”

Constantin laughed. “I wouldn’t pretend to know the difference.”

“Neither would I – yet it seems I’ve offended him terribly.”

“Well, it’s a mistake I’ll be sure not to make. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure!”

“Then I’m glad,” he said. Again, his gaze turned to Vasco, and she saw him look him up and down once more: from his slender waist to the hard, lean muscles of his abdomen to the thick blue lines on his chest, and then to his face, with those sharp cheekbones and jawline and neatly-pulled-back hair. _I suppose he is handsome enough._

But her gaze went again to Kurt, and she found herself trying not to stare, knowing it would draw Constantin’s attention. Instead of tattoos, she noticed a number of scars, and tried not to stare at the one that disappeared beneath his trousers, near his hip. _I can’t believe I’ve never noticed._ His abdomen was as flat and hard as Vasco’s, but he was taller and broader of shoulder than the Naut captain, with more muscle in his bare arms. There was a vertical trail of hair that ran in a straight line down his chest and abdomen, past his navel, disappearing into his breeches, and she had to pull her eyes up before Constantin noticed.

“He’s so handsome,” Constantin sighed, and she had to remind herself that he meant Vasco.

“I hope you’ll be happy. Just remember, the Nauts are our allies. No unhappy partings.”

“I promise you, cousin, I have never left a lover unhappy.” Constantin good-naturedly reached out and ruffled her hair. “I have great hopes of success. But I hope you will find someone on this island.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Well, you do know that they call this the island of miracles.”

Constantin burst into laughter. “You would hardly need a miracle for that.”

“You never know,” she said, and found her gaze flickering back to Kurt.


	20. Two Captains

They were a month into the voyage when Kurt saw the door of the captain’s cabin open; Constantin came stumbling out, pulling on a rumpled doublet.

“Kurt!” He laughed when he saw him, covering embarrassment with bravado. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I’m going to help some of the sailors with repairs.”

“Repairs? What could you know of repairing a Naut ship that they wouldn’t?”

“Not the ship,” Kurt answered. “Furniture.” He’d heard a few of the sailors complaining that their bunks were shoddily made, and offered to inspect. It hadn’t taken long to see they were right. “I know a little about carpentry. The ship’s carpenter’s a bit of a drunk, and his hands aren’t the steadiest.”

“Is that Lauro?”

“One of Lauro’s drinking buddies,” Kurt answered. Lauro was an able seaman, more often found in the ship’s rigging, but a month aboard ship had taught him that the ship’s cook and the carpenter, Paulo and Bruno, were often found drinking alongside him. “He does good work when they can keep him sober, but that isn’t often enough.”

“I’ll mention it to the captain.” Constantin looked over his shoulder at the cabin door.

“I’m sure he knows.” Kurt didn’t react, even as Constantin laughed. When Constantin didn’t say anything more, Kurt gave him a nod and said, “Sir,” and moved past.

He spent the morning and afternoon both working in the hold. Jonas, the cabin boy, ended up watching him intently, asking questions about what he was doing and why; Kurt was glad to show him, and more than willing to accept the help, letting him hand him nails and hold boards in place. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll make you ship’s carpenter one day.”

“I’d rather be the gunner.”

“Really? Why? I wouldn’t think you Nauts run into much trouble on the open ocean. No one dares attack you for fear of losing your services.”

“That’s true enough most of the time, though…” Jonas lowered his voice, darting his eyes from side to side before speaking. “They say that there are Nauts who turn pirate sometimes, but no one will talk about that. I don’t know if it’s true, or if it’s just stories that we whispered to each other in the barracks on our island…but either way, I’ve always wanted to have a chance to fire the cannon!”

That made Kurt smile. “The problem is, if you’re firing it, you’re likely to be fired upon – and that’s not something you want to see, trust me.” He’d seen cannon used on land, against city walls and enemy forces. “I’ve done both, and I’d much rather spend my days building things than destroying them.”

“That’s a funny thing for a Coin Guard to say, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. It’s in the name – we’re about guarding things more than we are about making war. I’ve spent more time looking after Green Blood and His Highness than I have fighting…though I’ve spent plenty of time doing that, too.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jonas admitted. “You came with Lady de Sardet and Sir d’Orsay in case there was violence, wasn’t there? You would have fought my…my father’s men if you’d needed to, to help me get free.”

“I was with them to protect them,” Kurt said, “and to help keep them safe if they decided that the only way to free you was by using force. But yes, I would have fought them.”

“Even though they were your people?” Fontaine had contracted with the Coin Guard to provide protection, and had set those men to guarding Jonas in his cell.

The question took Kurt aback; it reminded him of Vasco’s disdain when he’d revealed he’d fought in both the Green-Azure and Red Sun regiments. But he answered honestly. “I would’ve done what was necessary to protect Green Blood and Constantin, yes. Though if it had come to that, I’d hope that they would have obeyed me if I’d told them to stand down.” He doubted that; Fontaine was rich enough that he had no doubt he might have paid the men extra for both their services and their silence, in which case Kurt’s orders would undoubtedly have fallen on deaf ears. “If they hadn’t, well…they would have left me no choice.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t have to fight them to get me free. I didn’t like my father, but it would have made my mother sad if you’d had to hurt him, and I wouldn’t have wanted that. She was so sad when I said goodbye, I would not have wanted to give her any more cause for grief.”

“I’m glad we were able to get you out of there,” said Kurt.

“So am I.”

“So am I,” a new voice came, and Kurt looked up to see Vasco standing in the doorway. “So this is where my cabin boy’s run off to.”

Jonas straightened. “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t realize you needed me.”

“It’s all right,” Vasco replied. “I thought you’d climbed up the spar to drink with Lauro. It’s a pleasant surprise to find that you’re actually working on ship’s business.” He eyed the bunks, then the hammer in Kurt’s hand. “I didn’t realize that you were a craftsman as well as a soldier.”

“Any soldier worth his salt learns a few things about building,” said Kurt. “Fortifications, temporary shelter…and I find it relaxing.”

“I must admit, I haven’t seen you fight, but I think you missed your calling,” said Vasco, inspecting the nearest bunk. “I’d promote you to ship’s carpenter in an instant.”

“And put poor Bruno out of a job?”

“I found poor Bruno passed out in the cargo hold, hiding behind some of the governor’s belongings,” Vasco replied.

“You’d better watch him. I know our governor brought at least one crate full of wine. If he finds it—”

“He knows better than to steal from the hold,” Vasco said. “Any Naut knows that’s a sure route to being scullied.”

“Scullied?”

“Washed ashore and left to dry.” The captain paused. “Are you almost done here?”

“Near enough,” Kurt answered. “Besides, the work’s not going anywhere, and neither am I. If anything else needs to be done, I can get to it tomorrow. Why?”

“Paulo’s looking for you in the kitchens,” Vasco told Jonas. “He wants some help with the preparations for supper.”

Jonas straightened. “Yes, sir, Captain!” He paused, looking to Kurt. “Captain…uh, I mean…” He looked to Vasco, as if worried his captain might take offense.

“It’s all right,” Kurt said. “You can call me Kurt. I’ve never been much for titles.”

“Kurt,” Jonas said, looking relieved. “Thank you for showing me everything. I’ve learned so much, and it’s so much better than peeling potatoes or scrubbing down the decks.” He cast a nervous glance back at Vasco. “Though I’m happy to do that too, sir.”

As Jonas left, Vasco looked to him. They hadn’t conversed much; the first fortnight at sea had been a busy time aboard ship, the ship’s captain busiest of them all, and Kurt had spent more time entertaining his two charges than worrying about the ship’s crew. Even more recently, as the ship had settled into its routine, he’d thought it seemed that the captain largely kept himself aloof; the crew had approached him, but not the captain. 

_Besides, it’s clear he favors Constantin’s company over Green Blood’s, and I don’t know that I’d want to befriend a man who clearly lacks taste._ Constantin handled much of the conversation at dinner, veering between overt enthusiasm and outright flirtation, leaving Kurt to listen to de Sardet, or even just to exchange amused glances. _I can't complain; I've enjoyed Green Blood's company. But I know it hurts her feelings._

“Not one for titles?” Vasco asked.

“My soldiers call me ‘captain,’ but I’ve never seen much point in having anyone else do it,” Kurt answered. “Not that it’s the sort of title that would gain you much respect at the court of Serene. ‘Lord’ and ‘Prince’ are the only titles that mean a thing to the blue-bloods there, and I’ll never be either of those.”

“Would you want to be?”

Kurt snorted, and Vasco raised an eyebrow. “I thought so.”

“Would you want to be a lord?” Kurt asked.

“I don’t know,” Vasco answered. “We Nauts are raised not knowing our birth families. I know that I came from the Congregation, but my admiral would frown at me if she even suspected I knew that much. Sometimes I wonder if I was from a noble family, and if so, if I might not have been happier there.”

“Do you not enjoy being a sailor?”

“It isn’t that. I love the sea,” Vasco answered. “But I wonder about the life I might have had, as well. Looking at those nobles, well…sometimes, it seems to me that they lead charmed lives, with hardly a care in the world.”

“Then you don’t know them well at all. At least, not Green Blood. She’s had more than her share of cares.”

“Lady de Sardet?”

Kurt nodded. “She’s spent her life looking after that cousin of hers,” he said. “Cleaning up his messes, chasing him down, even saving his life…I’m sure you’ve heard him tell the tale of her rescuing him from those bandits, but that wasn’t the first time she’s pulled his arse from the fire. She’s been saving his life since before I arrived in Serene.”

“But you’ve been there to help her since.”

“And taken my fair share of scars doing it,” Kurt acknowledged. “That palace is a hornet’s nest of intrigue. I’m glad we’re gone from it.” He paused. “Though Green Blood wasn’t happy to leave her mother behind.”

“Where her cousin was positively celebrating leaving his parents.”

“Constantin has always hated his father. Or it might be more apt to say that his father has always hated him,” Kurt admitted. “His mother hardly cares for him. Whereas the Princess de Sardet loves her daughter more than I’ve ever seen a noble care for their child…which is why she sent her away when she did. She’s dying of the malichor. Green Blood would have given anything to stay, but orders are orders, and sometimes even nobles don’t have a choice.”

“At least she knew a mother’s love,” Vasco pointed out. “Most nobles don’t consider the privileges they’ve had.”

“Like Constantin?” Kurt folded his arms across his chest and gave him a look. “If you’re going to accuse one of them of being ignorant of their privilege, it would be him. I find it strange that you’d favor him when you resent her so much.”

Vasco looked back at him, and he saw the realization come into the sailor’s golden eyes. “You know about that?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I didn’t think he could go for three months without company.”

“A captain cannot get involved with any members of his crew. At least, he should not.”

Kurt nodded in agreement. “Not with anyone who serves under you. That’s as true for a captain of the Coin Guard as a captain of the Nauts.”

“In which case, you can hardly blame me for taking some…company, as you say…where I can find it. I’m not expecting anything more, and neither is he.” Vasco looked amused. “His affections, such as they are, seem to be reserved for his cousin. He talks of her incessantly.”

“There’s nothing romantic there,” Kurt began, but Vasco shook his head.

“I didn’t mean to imply there was. Only that he’s not interested in giving his heart away. In fact, I don’t think either of us ever believed our hearts had anything to do with this arrangement; I certainly did not.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I don’t want to think of the scandal if Constantin decided he’d rather run away to join the Nauts instead of becoming the governor of Teer Fradee.”

Vasco looked amused. “I can’t imagine a noble wanting to leave his life to join the Nauts. Constantin is very complimentary about my ship, but I can’t imagine him ever swabbing the decks, furling the sails, or helping to weigh anchor.”

“He’s never done a hard day’s work in his life,” Kurt agreed as he finished the last of his own work and stood, gathering his tools. “I’ll take these back to old Bruno’s workshop.”

“Ah, and…Kurt? I’d appreciate if you didn’t say anything about my…arrangement…with Constantin to my crew,” said Vasco. “Discretion is difficult, aboard ship…but I’d prefer not to be made the object of fun.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling,” Kurt replied. “It’s Constantin you’ll have to worry about, far more than me or Green Blood.”

“Lady de Sardet knows?”

“You said it yourself: if she doesn’t already, she will. Constantin is her closest friend and confidante. He wouldn’t hide this from her if you asked.” Kurt thought of her and smiled. “Besides, she’s always been perceptive; even if Constantin didn’t tell her, I think she’d figure it out. But you have nothing to fear; you can trust her to keep quiet. She wouldn’t think of mentioning it to your crew…even though she knows she’s done something to upset you, though I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it is.”

Vasco frowned. “She hasn’t done anything.”

“Then why are you so unhappy with her?”

“I’m not.” His frown deepened. “I had not thought my feelings so obvious.”

“So obvious that even a Coin Guard could see you’re unhappy with her?” Kurt asked.

“I’m not unhappy with Lady de Sardet,” Vasco began. “At least, she’s done nothing to offend me.”

“Except whatever it was she said about your boat when you met.”

“It’s not a boat,” Vasco began, irritated, then realized Kurt had done it intentionally. “It wasn’t that, either. It was her.”

“Her?”

“Her nobility,” he said. “Nobles make me uncomfortable, and…well, truth be told, I’ve some issues with them. I do not know how much you know about the Nauts’ recruiting processes, but suffice it to say that I have unanswered questions regarding my own identity that have become more pressing.” 

“Your own identity?”

“Like Jonas, I too was sea-given,” Vasco said; his clipped tone suggested he wasn’t pleased about revealing as much to Kurt. “I believe I am from the Congregation, but know nothing else.”

“You see Green Blood and Constantin and think that’s the life you were supposed to lead. But you see it more in Green Blood than His Highness. Is that because it’s easier to imagine yourself the long-lost son of some prince than it is to imagine what it would be like to be the son of old d’Orsay himself, or is it because you envy Green Blood’s life more than his?”

“And I thought you were not perceptive,” said Vasco. He turned to go.

“Her life isn’t as easy as you think it, sailor,” Kurt said, and Vasco froze in place. “She grew up with a mother who loved her, but no one else, save that cousin of hers…and she gives more to him than he’ll ever give back. She’s left Serene knowing her mother will die of the malichor before she returns…and she hates herself for not staying with her, even though the Princess de Sardet all but ordered her from her side, and old d’Orsay did command her to go. That’s not the easy life you seem to think.”

“Don’t you envy her? Being a noble, having a loving family, being handed everything without having to work for it…”

“I envy her the family,” Kurt said, thinking of his own wet-nurse. “She had a loving mother for nearly twenty-five years. That’s more than most get. And I’d envy her the childhood she had, in that palace. Nobles get time to grow up, people looking after them while they live carefree and innocent…the way kids should get to live. The rest of it – the silk and lace, the fine food, the fancy palaces? Give me a roof over my head and enough food to eat, and I’ll be content – though I will admit, hot running water is a luxury I’d liked to have had all my life.”

“But would it be worth putting up with the rest of it? The poisonings, the intrigues, the uncertainty of it all? Nobles are a backstabbing bunch, and they don’t have many friends.” _Neither do I, but at least I know the friends I’ve made were genuine._

“Still, if you had children of your own, which life would you prefer for them? A noble’s, or the Coin Guard’s way of doing things?”

“I can’t imagine having kids of my own,” Kurt replied. “Not in the Coin Guard. It’s no way to grow up.”

“Then I think you can see my point.”

“I can, but I hope you see mine.”

“I do,” Vasco acknowledged. He nodded to the tools in Kurt’s hands, and again Kurt thought he seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. “If you'd like, I'll give those to Bruno."

As he handed over the tools, Kurt didn't envy the ship's carpenter; he'd corrected enough of his shoddy repairs to know that Vasco was likely to have words with him over his neglected duties. Tools in hand, Vasco departed, but Kurt thought he understood a little more of the other captain than he had before. _So he might have been a noble,_ he thought. Kurt himself had never had any illusions about his own past; he thought of himself as a prostitute’s son as much as the child of two Coin Guard, and was an orphan in any case.

 _His desire to be a noble, I don’t share. His desire for a family, on the other hand…_ He pushed a wave of sudden loneliness away. _That I understand all too well._ He wondered if Alexandra de Sardet would be free. _We've passed a number of hours here together._ Boredom was a perpetual problem for passengers aboard a ship, and she often sought him out for conversation, a game of cards, or even just simple companionship. _I know what it is to not want to be alone. I would not bother her if she does not want me there, but it does no harm to see. I should look in on her anyway._ Aboard the _Sea Horse_ , there was no one to guard her against, but he still felt odd if he went for too long without checking in on either of his charges. 

He tried not to think about how glad he was to see her smile. "Kurt! I was wondering where you were."

"Where's Constantin?"

"Asleep in his room. He said he wanted a nap. I've been with Sir de Courcillon. His nausea has abated, but he does not like being above deck for very long. Do you want to watch the waves? There was a pod of dolphins following the ship earlier; I showed Sir de Courcillon not long ago, and I think we might be able to see them again if we go to look."

"I'd be glad to, Green Blood." He thought of what he'd told Vasco of the nobility and their friendships. _I'm glad to spend the time with her._


	21. Crossing Celebration

Constantin’s birthday was around the halfway point of the crossing, and was marked with celebrations: rum rations flowed freely, and the crew had a day given over to recreation. “A full day planned,” Lauro declared, though when he came to fetch them, de Sardet suspected that he’d already begun his celebrations. “Dicing, gaming, wrestling and boxing matches, races up the mast, a tug-of-war, music and dancing…and we were hoping that maybe you’d show us some of that skill with your magic. Everyone’s heard about you taking down that monster the _Red Tide_ was carrying.”

“My fair cousin will be happy to oblige!” Constantin promised. “Won’t you, cousin?” De Sardet looked chagrined, but did not protest; Kurt knew she was unused to being the center of attention, but would never have considered refusing Constantin anything. “And perhaps we’ll have ourselves a fencing match afterward. It’s been too long since we’ve practiced, and you could show them how your magic works in combat!”

They did: de Sardet began by demonstrating a stasis spell on a Naut volunteer, and then flung bursts of shadow at targets the Nauts erected for her, knocking over empty crates and barrels. Afterward, Constantin insisted that she show off her magic by fighting him, and Kurt was pleased when de Sardet won the match; he liked both his pupils well enough, but Alexandra de Sardet had always been the more diligent of the pair, and he was proud to see her work pay off.

_Besides, if Constantin won, he’d be insufferable._ As it was, Constantin started his celebrations early, and was already tilting across the deck precariously before midday.

“Careful there, Your Highness,” said Vasco. “I don’t want to see you falling overboard.”

“I won’t. It would hardly be a dignified end for Sir Constantin d’Orsay. Though I do know how to swim, you know.”

“Yes, I recall,” Vasco said, amused. “Orsay Lake, was it not? The still, calm waters of an inland lake are hardly the open ocean, and I would not have you discover the difference firsthand.”

“I am sure that one of you would save me…whether that person would be you, the gallant ship’s captain; my lovely cousin, who has saved my life more times than I can count; or the brave Kurt, who would be honor-bound to dive after me should I fall in…or should I say, after us, since I am sure my fair cousin would the first to try to save me.”

“You’ll do us all a favor if you can stay dry,” Kurt said. “Why don’t you save some rum for the sailors?”

“It’s my birthday. If not now, when else could I celebrate?” Constantin gave a dramatic sigh. “If I was in Serene, we would be having a banquet and a ball. We would dance until dawn!”

_And you’d continue your celebrations for the week after,_ Kurt thought. Constantin had celebrated for days following his twenty-fifth, starting with a banquet hosted by his parents and ending with a days-long bender in the lower boroughs of Serene, culminating in a tavern brawl, Constantin purchasing several rounds of drinks for the entire Coin Tavern to make things right, and a full twenty-five hours in the adjoining brothel.

“We can still dance until dawn today,” de Sardet said. “At least, if you pace yourself.” She smiled, looking to Vasco. “You said there will be music and dancing, did you not?”

“Yes, after the competitions, and what we would consider a feast, though I doubt it would meet your definition,” Vasco answered. “Doubled rations, and are some special treats for the day: some dried fruit, some fat that Paulo will use to fry up some fresh biscuits using the fine flour, turtle stew, and some fresh fish that will be dressed in lemon juice. He’s even slaughtered some of the chickens we keep aboard, and he’ll fry those as well.”

“That sounds like a feast by anyone’s definition,” said de Sardet. “I hope that Paulo won’t be caught in the galley for all the celebrations.”

“As I understand it, he did much of the cooking yesterday,” Vasco answered.

“I know Jonas was helping him pluck the chickens, Green Blood. There were feathers everywhere.” He’d laughed at the sight of the cabin boy, who’d been perturbed by the assignment. _I’m sure that when he first went to sea, he didn’t imagine plucking chickens or gutting fish would be part of the arrangement._

“Captain!” Hector, one of the sailors, interrupted them; that drew some raucous cheers from nearby crew. “When are we going to start the competitions? The crew is restless!”

“By all means,” Vasco called back. “Let’s begin!”

As Vasco had explained to them at supper a few days ago, the halfway point of any long sea-voyage was marked by the Nauts with a variety of celebrations. “It is a holiday for the crew,” he’d explained. “We don’t have any crew who are making their first crossing. If we did, they’d lead the celebrations.”

“It is my first crossing,” Constantin said, “and though it is also the first crossing for both my cousin and Kurt, it is _my_ birthday.”

Vasco had looked uncomfortable; de Sardet had seen and intervened. “I believe that the Nauts’ crossing ritual is limited to crew, Constantin.”

“It is indeed,” Vasco said, visibly relieved. “The man or woman who leads the celebrations receives a tattoo to mark the occasion, though the tattoo that marks a first successful crossing has to wait until we’ve reached shore. As we have no leader, that honor will fall to me.”

He had explained the celebrations: the morning opened with a large meal, often fresh biscuits fried in pork fat and some dried fruit that had been saved as a treat; it was then followed by the opening of the rum casks, allowing alcohol to flow freely.

They’d now reached midday, and with it, a variety of competitions for the crew to both participate in and bet on. “You are welcome to join in,” Vasco had said the previous night, and although Kurt doubted that de Sardet would, he knew that Constantin was eager. 

“We’ll begin with the wrestling,” said Vasco. “Any man who wants to join in should strip to the waist and step forward.”

“You have to show them!” Constantin told Kurt as he removed his own doublet and shirt.

Kurt eyed him skeptically. “You’re planning to join the wrestling?”

“Of course!”

“You’d better hope the sailors divide the fighters by weight, then,” Kurt told him. “And be careful with how long you have that shirt off; you’ll burn to a crisp.” Constantin was lean, lanky, and ghost-pale; though the son of the Prince d’Orsay had certainly never known hunger, Kurt could count his ribs, and his hipbones were prominent on each side of a flat stomach. _He drinks like a fish, cleans his plate at every meal, and might still be five stone lighter than I am._

“You don’t have to worry about me, Kurt! I’ll even wear a hat if it’ll put your mind at ease. See?” Constantin had taken off his hat to remove his shirt and doublet, but stooped, picked it up, and put it back on. It was the shapeless bandit’s hat he’d taken from Kurt in Serene, and looked absolutely ridiculous on him. 

De Sardet saw him and laughed. “I doubt the hat will help,” she said. “Do be careful. I don’t know if I have the ingredients to make you an ointment for sunburn.”

“Even if you don’t, a healing potion would take care of it, would it not? I know the ship’s infirmary has plenty of those, and even if it did not, I know that the noble Kurt always has one in his gear.”

“If it came to it, I have a few in my room you could use,” de Sardet admitted. “But you should try to avoid the risk in any case.”

_Wasting a healing potion on a sunburn,_ Kurt couldn’t help thinking, but knew the expense would never enter Constantin’s mind. _To a noble as rich as him, it’s nothing._

“The sun here is so strong,” de Sardet said. “I wonder if it is this way on the island.”

“It seems far hotter than in Serene, but it is not as strong as it is here, on the open ocean,” Vasco said, approaching them. “The sunlight reflects off the water, and even a few hours can burn a man who isn’t used to its rays. I would be careful if I were you.”

“I wanted to ask if any of you were planning to join the competition,” Vasco said. “Each of the competitions will be open to passengers as well as crew, and while some will be much better-suited for Nauts, I had thought that you would want to join in some of the others.”

He looked to Constantin as he said it, and Kurt wondered if Constantin had said as much to the sailor the night before; he knew they’d spent the night together. _I’d hardly be much of a bodyguard if I didn’t know where he was._

Constantin replied with his usual bright-eyed enthusiasm. “But of course! You know how eager I am to join in. I will be wrestling, and so will Kurt.”

Kurt hesitated. _My back,_ he thought, seeing the sailors stripping down. _Have either of them seen?_ He doubted it; he’d only had his shirt off on the hottest of days, and he’d been careful to keep from turning his back on either of them. _I’ve been lucky they haven’t._ He was unashamed of most of his scars, those that he’d gotten in battle or while protecting Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet, but the scars on his back were nothing he wanted to remember. “If you’d rather keep all the honors for yourself, I’d be willing to sit out,” he offered.

“Never!” Constantin declared.

“Even if I end up facing you?”

“I doubt that will happen,” Vasco offered. “You’ll draw lots to face your first opponent, and winners will be paired.”

“Come, Kurt,” Constantin said. “I want to see you make a good accounting of yourself. Or are you afraid I’ll win?”

Kurt snorted. “Hardly.”

“Well, then, there’s no reason you shouldn’t join in? Or need I make it an order?”

“Constantin,” de Sardet reproved him. “If he doesn’t want to fight—”

“I will,” Kurt said. _It’s an order,_ he told himself. _Grit your teeth, put your head down, and obey, the way they taught you._ It was a hard thought to swallow, given that the way they’d taught him was the reason he had those scars, but he took a deep breath and removed his hat, then pulled off his shirt before bending to remove his boots.

As he bent, he heard de Sardet gasp, and knew she’d seen. “Kurt,” she breathed.

He knew exactly what she was looking at. _I was right. She hadn’t seen them before._ The ghost camp had left him with a number of scars; most were from the “night training” that had nearly killed him, but he had a fair few from various punishments.

“It’s nothing, Green Blood,” he said. “An old training injury, that’s all.” As he spoke, he struggled not to rub his right wrist; there were some very faint scars from where a pair of manacles had cut into the skin.

“Training scars?” Vasco asked. “That looks like a cat did it. I didn’t think the Coin Guard used the whip.”

“Not in most camps,” Kurt said. “But there was…special training, when I was a boy, and the commanders there were harsh.”

“A boy? How old were you?”

“Ten,” Kurt answered, and had to fight a wave of unwanted memories. “Ten when it started, twelve when it ended.”

Vasco was unable to conceal his horror. “I thought the Nauts’ training practices could be brutal, but no one would ever take a nine-tailed cat to a child that age.”

“It was supposed to train us to withstand anything,” said Kurt. “Break us down and build us up.” He swallowed hard as he thought of what Hermann and his lieutenants had put him through: the beatings, the starvation, the outright torture. “There was worse. Much worse.” Involuntarily, he remembered that night training, being surrounded by his fellow recruits, who had been made to beat him…and the nighttime visits from Hermann that had prompted his summoning to training. “Eventually, the regional commander got wind of it, and the camp was shut down.”

“Not soon enough,” de Sardet said; she still seemed half in shock.

“The barbarism of the Coin Guard seems to match that of the Nauts,” said Constantin.

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked.

“Captain Vasco bears the same scars,” Constantin answered, and now it was Kurt’s turn to look to Vasco in surprise.

 _I’ve seen him without a shirt on, but he never turned his back on me, either._ Now he had to wonder if the Naut captain had tried to hide his own scars from his passengers. _Not that he’d be able to hide anything from Constantin when they were abed together._

Vasco looked chagrined. “I was older,” he said. “Of age, by Naut standards.”

“Not by the Congregation’s,” Constantin answered. “You said you were sixteen.”

“I also told you I had no desire to speak of it,” Vasco replied, a slight edge entering his voice. “It’s not something I’m proud of. Not because I was to blame for any of it, but because one captain’s cruelty should not reflect poorly on my people as whole.” To Kurt and de Sardet, he explained, “We Nauts come of age at fifteen, though some would say that you become a man the day you get your first tattoo…in which case I was younger still. But I served under Captain Manuel for nearly two years; I was sixteen when I came aboard, and seventeen when I left. I transferred as soon as I could, and it couldn’t have been soon enough.”

“Every Naut ship has a nine-tailed cat aboard, though some captains use it much more freely than others. If you look at the backs of half my crew, you’ll see its mark. Bruno, Bianca, Ricardo, Hector, Lauro, Carmen, Paulo, Gustavo…too many of us have felt what it’s like to have your back split by a few strokes. Paulo will tell you that the captain who tore his back to shreds was crueler than most: he ordered the ship’s doctor to clean the wounds with salt water.”

“You said every Naut vessel has one?” de Sardet echoed.

“Yes. Ship’s regulations say it should be stored in the captain’s cabin, though I keep mine in a lockbox at the bottom of a trunk, and act as if it does not exist, save for the rare occasion when some officious portside inspector demands to review my ship’s equipment manifests. I hope I will never have to use mine at all…but it is left to every captain’s discretion. Some use it as a tool of discipline, others as a tool of terror. Captain Manuel was fond of claiming it was for discipline, and wielded it freely. Falling asleep on watch, being drunk on duty…or, in my case, having too sharp a wit and too free a tongue, and speaking without sufficient respect.”

For a moment, Vasco’s eyes flashed, and Kurt saw the emotions that played quickly over his face as he suppressed the memory: a burning anger at a sense of injustice, humiliation, and steely resolution. “My scars are not as bad as yours, but the lesson was sharp enough that I vowed I would never use it on my own crew when I had a ship of my own.” 

De Sardet was still caught up in horror and outrage. “It must have sliced your back to ribbons…did they not treat the wounds? How could it have left such scars, when a healing potion or a spell might have…”

“You know the Coin Guard doesn’t put its stock in magic, Green Blood. And healing potions are expensive,” Kurt answered. “The Guard doesn’t waste its coin on new recruits. Scars are supposed to be a reminder of what we’ve done wrong, and a badge of honor…or of shame.”

“The only person who should be ashamed is the instructor who could beat their recruits,” de Sardet said, outraged. “To hurt a child…” She swallowed hard. “Ten. That is how old I was when you started training me. I cannot imagine…” She blinked, and Kurt thought she might actually be blinking back tears.

“It’s like the sailor says,” he told her. “I swore I’d never train a recruit that way. Or anyone placed under my protection.”

“As if you could have,” Constantin sniffed, and Kurt saw Vasco frown. “My parents might strike me on occasion, but they reserved the right to violence for themselves, and restricted themselves to an open hand. If anyone else had attempted to strike me, I’m sure my father would have had their hand…if not their very head! He might loathe me, but I am a d’Orsay, and a slight against my person would be a slight against our noble house.”

“My mother would never have dreamt of striking me,” de Sardet said distantly.

“If anyone else had tried it, she would have clawed their eyes out with her bare hands,” Kurt agreed, but he could tell she was upset: both by the sight of his scars and Vasco’s discussion of his own, and by the memories it had raised of her own loving mother.

He distracted her as best he could. “Are you planning on throwing your hat in the ring, Captain?”

Vasco startled; apparently, his own thoughts had been distracted. “I’m afraid not,” he answered. “It would be unseemly for a captain to take part in such with his crew.”

“Then I am disappointed,” Constantin declared. “I would have looked forward to trying myself against you.”

 _I’d think you’ve wrestled enough with the sailor,_ Kurt thought, but held his tongue; there was no sense in provoking Constantin, and Vasco’s words about his own experiences with the lash and his own determination not to use it had given Kurt more respect for him. _It’s no wonder his crew is fond of him._

“Well, you can try yourself against the rest of my crew. I think that Melia is handling the drawing of lots for your first opponent.”

“Then come!” Constantin seemed unhappy with the turn the conversation had taken. “This is hardly a fine topic for a day when we’re supposed to be celebrating. Let’s cheer ourselves with a victory!”

Constantin wrestled with the same enthusiasm that he gave everything, though he lost quickly and with good grace, and cheered Kurt when he won his own first match. Victory followed victory, and the championship came down to him and Ricardo, the largest Naut aboard the ship; he was very nearly Kurt’s height, and was actually heavier, though much of it was fat.

Despite the difference in weights, Kurt won readily; Ricardo was strong but untrained, and the match ended when Kurt threw him over one shoulder before pinning him.

“Captain, you should give it a go!” said Lauro. “I’m sure none of us would grudge it if you threw your hat into the ring.”

“You know the custom,” Vasco said. “A ship’s captain does not participate in the competitions.” 

“You wouldn’t be wrestling against a fellow Naut,” said Lauro. “Come on, Captain. There’s Naut pride at stake here!”

“There’s my pride at stake as well,” Vasco said, amused. “He beat Gustavo, Hector, and Ricardo easily.”

“You could win, I’m sure.” Lauro looked to his fellow crewmates for aid. “Don’t we believe in our captain? Don’t we think he could win?”

There were cheers, and Kurt noticed that Vasco looked both pleased and chagrined. “While your loyalty is appreciated, I have my doubts as to your judgment. I get the feeling that we are in different weight classes.” Kurt was both significantly taller and more thickly muscled than the Naut captain.

“Please, Captain—”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to see me pinned to the deck,” Vasco said, clearly amused.

“It isn’t that, Captain, I swear it, but—”

"Why are you so keen on me entering the ring?”

“I’ve wagered two weeks’ wages on a Naut winning!”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crew, and Vasco said, “Well, that ought to teach you a lesson about gambling.” He gestured to Melia. “Give Captain Kurt his winnings.”

“Winnings?” Kurt asked.

“The winner of each contest gets a cut of the betting pool,” Flavia explained as she handed him a coin purse.

“You’ve done the Congregation proud,” Constantin told him.

“And the Coin Guard,” de Sardet added.

“You’ll have to give me a chance to win it back later,” Lauro said. “You’re a Coin Guard; you must know how to gamble.”

“I know a little about dicing and cards,” Kurt said. “I don’t play often, but we’ll see.”

“Later,” Flavia said. “We still have the rest of the competitions. Boxing, knife-throwing, scaling the masts, and a tug-of-war…and after that, there will be dancing and food before everyone settles to cards and story-telling.”

“I think I’ll stay out of the boxing ring,” Constantin said.

“I’d think so,” Kurt said, amused. “I can’t see you taking a chance on ruining that pretty face with a broken nose.”

“You should enter the ring! It isn’t as if it would matter if your nose was broken.”

“Constantin!” de Sardet rebuked him, but before she could say more, Vasco intervened.

“The winner of one competition does not participate in the others,” said Vasco. “Save the last, of course; the tug-of-war is for the entire crew. But it would engender resentment among the crew if one man took all the prizes.”

“It would be bad sportsmanship if he won everything, Constantin,” de Sardet agreed.

“I’m glad you think me capable, but I doubt anyone but a Naut could win some of the other events they have planned,” said Kurt. “Climbing those masts looks like it would be a good way to break your neck, even before making it a race.”

“You must know who among your crew excels at every skill,” Constantin said to Vasco. “Tell me, who should I bet on for that particular competition?”

“Lauro was our champion mast-climber until Bianca came aboard,” Vasco replied, nodding to another sailor who looked to be in her late teens. “But Jonas may give her a run for her money this time.” His eyes sparkled. “Speaking of money, I believe you owe your cousin twenty-five florins.”

“Betting against me, were you?” Kurt asked Constantin as Vasco moved away, helping his first mate to make arrangements for the boxing matches.

“I asked my fair cousin which of us she would favor to win the fighting. I thought she would declare her undying loyalty to me, but – alas! – she chose you. On a celebration of my birthday, no less.” Constantin sighed dramatically. “It seems that no one will honor my wishes today.” He glanced at Vasco, who was making a list of the matches. “I was hoping that Captain Vasco would enter the ring. I would have liked to see him wrestling…though I was disappointed to discover that the Nauts do not oil themselves before a match as the wrestlers of Verrezia do.” Constantin let out a slightly salacious laugh. “He’s quite agile.”

“Don't speak so loudly," de Sardet reproved him. "I’m sure the captain would prefer discretion." 

Again, Constantin laughed. “Then perhaps he should have chosen you. I’m sure you’d be the very soul of secrecy, my dear cousin…as you have proved by slipping away from us without a word as to where you were going.”

“That’s hardly a secret,” de Sardet protested, holding up a pewter mug as explanation.

“Refreshments? I don’t blame you; the day is hot. But you should have brought a second mug; I would join you in toasting our victorious captain!”

“I’ll get one for each of us, and then I’ll be glad to join in that toast,” de Sardet agreed. Turning to Kurt, she added, “This is for you. Fresh water, with just enough wine in it to purify it.” Since the waters of Gacane were very often polluted, it was the custom of most peoples on the continent to add at least a little alcohol to any beverage; the doctors of the Bridge Alliance claimed that it had purifying effects. “You’ve been fighting in this heat; I’m sure you must be very thirsty.”

“Water? For our champion?” Constantin asked, but Kurt took the mug from her gratefully. As he drank, Constantin lowered his voice conspiratorially. “After I lost my first match, she tried to give the same to me.” He swept a hand toward the edge of the deck. “As far as I’m concerned, water is for ships to sail in or men to bathe in. Give me a fine wine any day!”

He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll get a mug for each of us, cousin,” he told her. “And it will not be water, I promise you that! It is my birthday, and you should be celebrating.”

Kurt didn’t answer; he was too busy drinking. “Thank you, Green Blood,” he said after he’d drained the mug of its contents. “You’re right; I needed that.” He blinked as he realized that the aching of his muscles had faded. “Was that only water you had in there?”

“There were a few drops of healing potion,” de Sardet admitted.

“For a few bruises?” He wondered if she’d done the same for Constantin. _More likely than not, he’d have insisted on it._ Kurt’s own instructors had insisted that aching muscles and a few bruises were meant to serve as reminders for future improvement, but Constantin had never been able to tolerate even the slightest scrape.

“I know that it must be little enough compared to the other pains you’ve known, but I would not see you suffer unnecessarily,” she said, and he knew she was thinking of the conversation he’d had with Vasco, and the scars she’d seen for the first time.

“Healing potions are hardly cheap, Green Blood. Even for you, if you use them that often.”

“They are well worth the expense,” she insisted, raising her eyes to his. He wasn’t sure why, but his heartbeat seemed to quicken as their eyes met, and he found himself unsure of what to say in reply.

Constantin returned, saving him the trouble of having to think of what to say, or of having to dwell on the sensation. “To our victorious captain!” he said, holding his mug aloft as he handed another to de Sardet. From the smell, Kurt knew that the mugs were definitely not filled with water.

“To our victorious captain!” De Sardet joined in the toast, but sipped at her drink instead of downing half the mug, as Constantin had done.

They watched the boxing; Ricardo, the burly Naut, redeemed himself by winning a match against a smaller but faster competitor. “You would have won,” Constantin told Kurt, and Kurt had to agree: he’d watched the match with the eye of a master-at-arms, having trained in unarmed combat as well as with a variety of arms, and had thought of how he would have reacted if put into the ring.

“I’m glad he didn’t,” de Sardet said. “I’ve never liked boxing.” Ricardo had won the victory, but his lip was split, one eye blackened and beginning to swell shut, and his ear was red and swollen, while the Naut who’d taken second place had chipped a tooth, and several of the others were already being tended to by the ship’s doctor; one had broken a finger, another his nose.

“The Nauts set a healing potion or two aside for this,” Constantin said. “I asked Vasco. He said the minor injuries will be left to heal on their own, but anything that would affect their ability to perform their duties will be treated.”

“I still don’t like it,” de Sardet said.

“Dueling is far more elegant,” Constantin said. “There’s refinement to it that hand-to-hand fighting can’t match. But there’s something thrilling about it, don’t you think? The sheer excitement, the blood—”

“You hate the sight of blood,” de Sardet said.

“His own, perhaps,” Kurt scoffed. _Back in Serene, if we’d spilled the blood of those men who’d taken him, he’d have laughed._ “You’re the one who doesn’t like it, Green Blood.” _You have a gentle heart._ Once, she had caught Constantin at an arena fight in Serene: while the Coin Guard often sponsored betting on combat between men who volunteered to fight one another, they also hosted fights that included men against animals and animals against animals, both wild and domesticated.

 _There was a bear-baiting that night._ He’d been with de Sardet, not with Constantin, and had followed her into the arena to see a half-starved bear being pitted against a pack of dogs. Constantin had been cheering, caught up in the excitement and the fervor of the crowd, and Kurt still remembered the look of disappointment and heartbreak in her eyes as she’d seen her cousin’s enthusiasm for the fight. _She cried, told him how upset she was by it, begged him never to go back._ Kurt suspected that Constantin hadn’t ceased his visits to the arena entirely, but if he had continued to attend, he’d taken great pains to ensure his beloved cousin wouldn’t be troubled by the knowledge.

_Constantin loves a good fight, whether he’s watching or taking part. Green Blood would rather avoid a fight entirely – not because she wants courage, but because she can’t bear to see others in pain._

“It’s over and done with,” he told her. “There’s knife-throwing next, but they’ll be throwing a target, not each other.” Fifteen years ago, when he’d sailed from Theleme to the Congregation, he’d seen a sailor practicing. “It’s not much practical use in a fight where everyone’s wearing armor – even the best sailor can’t aim well enough at a moving target to drive the point between the joints, or throw hard enough to keep mail from stopping the point – but it’s not as if they’re fighting men in armor anyway. Even if their ships were ever boarded, a full plate of armor might be dangerous to wear on the deck of a ship. Fall over and you’re a dead man.” _Though that’s true enough on the battlefield, too._ A man who fell was not likely to rise again; a man flat in his back in full plate was likely to be trampled by a horse if he wasn’t shot or speared by an opponent. _Still, drowning isn’t the way I’d choose to die…though it’s not as if a man who's trying to kill you would ever ask your preference._

The knife-throwing competition went to an older woman: Melia, a steel-haired sailor whose tattoos were creased by wrinkles, beat out more than half a dozen others. “My secret? Stay away from the drink. Some sailors, their hands grow palsied with age, but I’ve always kept steady hands – which is more than you can say for those that enjoy their liquor.”

De Sardet cheered heartily when Jonas entered the mast-climbing competition; seeing her enthusiasm, Kurt cheered with her, shouting encouragement for the boy. Constantin was louder than either of them, and when Jonas beat both Lauro and Bianca to the top, let out a whoop that was even louder than Flavia’s delighted shout.

That left the tug-of-war. Vasco seemed bemused that he had to explain the concept to his noble passengers, who were unfamiliar with the game. “We take a long rope and tie a handkerchief around the knot in the middle. The first team to pull the kerchief across the line wins. There’s not much prize money, since it’s divided among the teams, but it’s always a matter of bragging rights. Sometimes it’s a team of officers and cabin boys against the rest of the crew, sometimes it’s the older crew against the younger, sometimes it’s the victors of the competitions against those who took second place, sometimes it’s sea-born against sea-given…though I think only a fool of a captain would divide his crew that way,” he admitted. “Today, I suspect we will be pitting our noble passengers and their friends against others of the crew.”

They divided into two teams; not every member of the crew wanted to participate, and some satisfied themselves with betting. Constantin had been very much taken with Vasco’s idea of the noble passengers and their friends against the others, and insisted that he, de Sardet, and Kurt all participate, along with Jonas, Flavia, Lauro, and a few other Nauts who’d appreciated the repairs Kurt had made to their ship’s furniture. In contrast, Bruno, the ship’s carpenter, insisted on being part of the opposite team, as did Ricardo and the other Nauts Kurt had defeated in the wrestling competition. 

“Let’s show them what we can do!” Constantin declared. Kurt ended up as the anchor, with de Sardet just in front of him, while Constantin insisted on standing at the very front.

Vasco lifted the rope, having secured a bright red handkerchief in place in a knot at the center. “When I drop this rope, the competition begins,” he said; Kurt was certain the explanation was meant for his passengers, since one of the Nauts rolled his eyes. “It ends when that handkerchief crosses the victory line.” Lines had been marked out in chalk on the ship’s deck. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Constantin exclaimed. Gustavo, a grizzled-looking Naut with bristly gray eyebrows and unruly mutton chops, growled, “Aye, Captain.”

“One…two…three…go!” As he said ‘ _go_ ,’ he dropped the rope. 

This was closer than the wrestling had been; Ricardo was a thick-necked bull of a man, Gustavo was surprisingly strong, and even Bruno, who was drunk, was stronger than either Constantin or his cousin.

“Pull!” Constantin howled as the other team dragged him a step forward. “Harder! Come on!” Somehow, he managed to wrench the other team back; as he did, Kurt saw Bruno’s footing falter.

Kurt planted his feet and gave one enormous tug, and suddenly all the tension on the other end of the rope gave way as the opposition collapsed. He hadn’t expected them to give out so suddenly, and the force of that final tug meant that more than half a dozen people in front of him stumbled backwards: Constantin fell hard against Flavia, who fell backward, creating a domino effect. 

He barely had time to register what happened before de Sardet fell backward, landing hard against him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her to keep her from hitting her head on the deck, taking the brunt of the fall himself; he kept his head up and landed hard on his back. The landing was more forceful than he’d anticipated, and he felt the breath go out of him as he hit the deck flat on his back, de Sardet atop him.

“Kurt! Are you all right?” She tried to move off of him, turning her head as she did so, and for a moment her face was so close to his that he could feel her breath. He tried to reassure her, but he was too out of breath to speak. “Are you hurt? You didn’t hit your head, did you? It happened so quickly—”

“I’m fine,” he got out; it was another moment before he had enough breath to say anything more. “Had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all.” De Sardet was crouched on the deck near him. She extended him her forearm; grasping it, he pulled himself into a sitting position. “What of you?”

“I’m fine as well.” For a moment, they sat there on the deck, looking at each other, and a disconcerting thought flashed across Kurt’s mind.

 _She’s lovely._ She was sweaty, her face flushed, a strand of hair caught in her mouth, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but think of how she’d felt when she’d landed against him, or her breath, hot on his face.

 _It’s Green Blood you’re thinking about,_ he told himself, and angrily dismissed the thought.

“Let me help you up. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“Certain.”

“It’s thanks to you that I didn’t hit mine.” Before he could reply, Constantin had swept both of them up into his victory celebration.

“Cousin! Kurt! We are victorious. You, me, Jonas, Flavia, Lauro, Hector, and Emilio,” said Constantin. “The champions of the _Sea Horse_!”

For a brief time, Kurt was concerned that Constantin’s bragging might earn him the resentment of the crew, but those fears were soon allayed: to celebrate, Constantin insisted on having a few bottles of a better vintage he’d packed in his trunks brought up, and he shared it out among the crew, winners and losers alike.

As they drank, several Nauts produced musical instruments and began to play, and the crew began to dance. Constantin joined in with the enthusiasm he lent to everything, insisting that the nearest Nauts teach him the steps.

_It’s a very different sort of dance than they do in the Congregation,_ he thought. There, even the most energetic of dances was measured, lifts and leaps done on an exact beat, with hands placed just so, all very decorous and proper, the dancers moving in their fixed patterns. This was very different: Naut dancing was lively, chaotic, and spontaneous, with the sailors changing partners at a whim or even having no partner at all, sometimes joining hands to whirl about in a circle, only to break apart and pair off again.

As in Serene, he sat back and watched from a distance, near the crowd but not of it, nursing a mug of watered rum. _Not so watered as it ought to have been. Maybe I shouldn’t have had so many. Drinking alone only makes a man maudlin._

“Kurt,” de Sardet said, startling him from his thoughts; she was holding a mug of her own, and he moved over to allow her to sit down on the crate next to him. “I wondered if you ever felt lonely.”

_Was I truly that transparent?_ “I always do!” he answered, trying to cover his genuine feelings with a jovial tone that better matched their surroundings. “Why, do you want to rectify this?”

He’d responded glibly, expecting her to tease him about needing to take time off for himself or asking why he couldn’t find a woman of the Coin Guard who suited him, and was surprised to see her look bothered by the answer. “I had hoped to have kept you good company for all these years. After all, we were always together.”

Kurt took a long draught from his mug. “And these memories I hold dear,” he answered finally. “You’ve always been extraordinary, Green Blood. But I had to watch over you…you were my responsibility…and that didn’t leave us much time for friendship.”

“What about now?”

“Now? I hope that we’ll have more time.”

“So do I,” she said. She set her mug down, and took Kurt’s from his hand. “Maybe now is the time to start.”

As she pulled him up, Kurt hesitated. “You want me to dance?”

“Why not? I taught you to dance in Serene, didn’t I?”

“That was a long time ago…and I still can’t believe I let you,” he said.

“Even Captain Vasco has joined in,” she said. “Look.” Kurt followed her gaze, and to his surprise saw that the Naut captain had let himself get drawn into the celebrations. “Everyone has already had too much to drink. No one will say anything if we get the steps wrong.”

“I don’t know—”

“I hate the thought of you sitting here by yourself in the dark, watching everyone else have fun. All the times in Serene you had to watch us at a banquet or a ball, standing guard…”

“It was my duty, Green Blood.”

“But we’re not in Serene now, and you don’t have to sit out. Join us,” she said, but where Constantin’s demand for him to join in the wrestling had felt like an order, her words were almost a plea.

He gave in, letting her pull him into the whirl of dancers. De Sardet was right: everyone aboard was well and truly drunk, and if they missed a few steps or collided with another couple, no one minded.

 _Maybe things will be different on this island,_ he thought as they spun about. She laughed, and he laughed with her; it might have been the drink, or the infectious nature of the mood that had overtaken the entirety of the ship, but in that moment, anything seemed possible. _Maybe we could be friends._


	22. Rapprochement

In the days after Constantin’s birthday celebration, de Sardet’s thoughts began to turn to Teer Fradee. _We’re more than halfway there,_ she thought, _and we were aboard the ship for fifty days before Captain Vasco decided to have the crossing celebration._ Jonas had told her that, while the voyage could take up to three and a half months, he was confident that the _Sea Horse_ ’s captain would have them ashore less than a hundred days after they’d first set sail.

_We’ll be ashore in less than seven weeks’ time…perhaps as few as six._ It made her wonder what the future might hold.

Constantin’s thoughts also drifted to Teer Fradee. “What do you think our island will be like, cousin? Do you think it will be as lovely as they say?”

“I hope so,” she said. “Did you have a happy birthday? I’m sorry that a gift will have to wait until we’re ashore. I should have thought of it before we left.”

Constantin pouted. “To think, you purchased a new hat for Kurt, but nothing for me.”

“I am sorry,” de Sardet began, but Constantin had already shrugged it off.

“There’s no need to apologize! You’re always thinking of me. I suppose I must sound terribly ungrateful. You saved my life the day we boarded, tracked me down and rescued me from those brutes, and I’m chiding you for not remembering a present. The island will be my birthday gift…belated, perhaps, but the best gift anyone could ask for. A whole city to call mine!”

“I wish I knew more. I cannot wait to see it. New Serene!”

“Sir de Courcillon could certainly tell you more.”

“If I see him. I do not believe he has left his cabin more than a dozen times this voyage! To think that he used to participate in expeditions. I don’t know how he managed.”

“He said that in his youth, he was in better health,” de Sardet offered, “and willing to put up with the inconvenience of seasickness for the thrill of adventure.”

Constantin laughed disbelievingly. “I cannot believe that our old tutor would ever have desired the thrill of adventure. He has always struck me as being thoroughly dull.”

“Constantin, that is unkind,” de Sardet reproved him.

“Unkind, perhaps, but true. Would you have me lie?” Constantin gave a theatrical sigh. “But perhaps you are right.”

“If you go to see him, I’m sure he’ll answer your questions about the island. It would be kind of you to visit him there.” De Sardet had spent many hours visiting with her tutor, asking him questions about the island and attempting to take his mind from his queasy stomach. “He does not like to come abovedeck often; he says that the sight of the open ocean makes him uneasy. But he would be glad of your company, I am sure.”

Constantin moved off, and de Sardet found herself watching the waves and thinking. _Sir de Courcillon may not like the sight of the ocean, but I find it calming._ The fresh sea air, the open sky, the gentle rise and fall of the ship beneath her: it combined for a peaceful, pleasant sensation. _Though I could not imagine life as a Naut. A calm sea and blue sky are one thing, but the storms frighten me, and I miss the comforts of home._ Fresh water was a luxury aboard ship, and she found herself longing for a hot bath, complete with scented bath oils and a soft towel.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

De Sardet looked away from the waves to see Jonas. “You seemed sad. Or maybe thoughtful-like. It reminded me of the captain.” He tugged on her sleeve, and she followed his gaze to see Captain Vasco standing at the prow of the ship, arms folded across his chest as he stared out at the waves, his gaze distant and forbidding.

“I was missing my home,” she admitted. “Serene.”

“I’m glad you brought me home,” Jonas said. “Thank you again.”

“There’s no need to thank me for that,” she said. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Except they wouldn’t have. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a noble who’d have taken the trouble. You know, most nobles don’t celebrate the crossing with us. Lauro told me that in thirty years aboard a ship, he’s never seen any noble passenger take part in the tug-of-war, or dance with us the way you and your cousin did. All they ever do is look down their noses at us.”

“Then they’re missing a great deal of fun,” she told him. “I enjoyed your celebrations, as did Constantin and Kurt.” A faint smile touched her lips as she remembered Constantin whirling about, dancing with abandon; he’d looked ridiculous, but hadn’t cared.

_I’m sure I looked ridiculous too._ De Sardet remembered Kurt laughing, and the memory made her smile widen. _I’m glad that he enjoyed himself._ She had seen him sitting on a crate, watching the dancers from the shadows, and his reply of “I’m always lonely!” had made de Sardet wonder how often he must have done so in Serene.

_I haven’t paid him nearly enough attention. I fear I’ve taken him for granted._ She felt a pang of regret at that.

Jonas didn’t notice. “I’m glad we won the tug-of-war, and your captain the wrestling. He’s been kind to me. Bruno always makes me feel bad for asking him how things are done, but he showed me how to build a bunk, and we repaired the table in the galley together.”

“He helped me repair furniture in Serene as well,” de Sardet said, thinking of the tables they’d fixed.

“I think that’s where he is now,” said Jonas. “Gustavo asked him to fix his desk. I think it nearly killed him to ask the favor from someone who’s not a Naut, but Bruno’s last repair didn’t hold for a week. I’m sure the captain will have to talk to him soon; he’s taken to the bottle more and more. Lauro and Paulo, they know how to have their fun, but they’ve never let it affect their duties. That’s the shortest way to being scullied, Lauro says.”

_Constantin should take advice from Lauro,_ de Sardet thought. Constantin had stayed in his cabin for an entire day after the celebration, miserably hung over; she had tried to visit him with a cup of tea and some resuscitation powder, but he had refused to let her in. _He never likes me to see him when he’s unwell…particularly when he knows I’ll chide him for his overindulgence._

“Lauro has good advice,” she told Jonas. She caught sight of Vasco looking up at them then, and saw what she thought was a disapproving stare. “I suppose I should allow you to get back to your duties. Your captain won’t appreciate me taking you from them. I fear I’ve already angered him.”

“I don’t think you could have,” said Jonas. “What’s there to be angry about? First you save me from that warehouse, and then you kill that monster before it could hurt any Nauts or ravage our ships.” He shrugged. “The captain gets like that sometimes, distant and cold. He isn’t angry at us, he says, just unhappy. Flavia says it’s because he’s angry he doesn’t know about his own family, but I don’t see why that would be the reason; that’s part of being sea-given.” He grimaced. “If I were him, I’d be happy not to know my family. I think I was happier not knowing.”

“I am sorry you found out that way, and that your father treated you so poorly.”

“It wasn’t all bad. My…mother was kind. Even when I said goodbye.” Jonas shuffled his feet. “But you’re right…I should get back to my duties. The captain won’t be happy if he finds that I’ve not finished my chores.”

He moved off, but de Sardet saw that Vasco was still eyeing her. She sighed inwardly. _I’ve spent half this voyage avoiding him, it seems…or he’s spent half the voyage avoiding me._ They did take supper together every night in the captain’s cabin, but Constantin’s presence always erased any possible tensions; he conversed readily with them both, and the Naut captain always seemed at least outwardly cordial at the dinner table, even if she rarely saw him elsewhere.

_This is ridiculous. There’s no reason we should spend the rest of the voyage this way._ Taking a deep breath, she approached the captain.

“De Sardet,” Vasco said stiffly. She thought his demeanor seemed cold. _He was not that way with his crew during the celebrations_. Vasco had joined in the dancing, and she had seen him smile and laugh: a rare thing, from what Flavia and Lauro had told her in Serene, but he had seemed genuinely happy.

“Captain Vasco,” she replied.

“I hope you enjoyed the festivities.”

“I did. I know Constantin appreciated them, as well. I know that it is customary for the Nauts to celebrate the halfway point of a long voyage, but it was kind of you to include the celebration of his birthday in those festivities. It made him very happy.”

“We Nauts do not celebrate the day of our birth,” said Vasco. “We generally do not even know which day we were born. After all, for the sea-given, that is part of our past life, and something the Admiralty does not see fit to share. Celebrations are for the entire crew, not a single man, unless it’s a promotion.”

“Yet you were kind enough to arrange for Constantin’s celebration. Thank you, Captain.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Vasco answered brusquely. “You are our passengers, after all, and cannot be expected to keep Naut customs.”

“But you did not have to accommodate us,” de Sardet persisted. “It was very kind.”

Vasco was silent for a long moment, looking out to sea. _What did I say to offend him? I truly do not understand._

“You seem to be mad at me for some reason,” de Sardet ventured. “Are you still mad I called your ship a boat?”

Vasco looked amused. “No, it has nothing to do with that. Nobility makes me uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I was rude.”

“I can’t blame you,” she admitted. “Most nobles are tiresome. I hope I have managed to change this poor first impression of me.”

“You have,” Vasco admitted. “I was wrong about you. You are different. I should have realized that sooner. I hope you can forgive my manners; it was foolish of me.”

De Sardet stared at him in surprise. Her mouth opened slightly. “I had not…but of course, Captain,” she said. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“You’re very kind,” Vasco answered, still sounding uncomfortable. “First, you free Jonas, though he is a mere cabin boy…and then you are happy to take part in our celebrations. If you had a few tattoos, you would have truly looked like a Naut.”

“Jonas is a kind boy,” she answered, “and I would have been a poor legate and a worse person had I ignored the reports of a missing child. As for your celebrations…” She smiled. “I truly enjoyed them, and I’m glad we were able to participate.”

Vasco nodded, and was silent for another moment; he looked as if he was weighing something in his mind. “De Sardet,” he said finally, the words emerging reluctantly from his lips, as if he’d decided to speak before he thought better of it. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed…distant. I do not want you to think it’s you I’m angry with. It isn’t that; it never has been. It is only…a personal matter,” he said finally. “One I’ve struggled with a long while, and that your presence tends to remind me of. But it has nothing to do with you, personally.”

De Sardet thought of what Jonas had said, but did not mention it; she didn’t think that Vasco would take well to her telling him that she knew his secrets. “If my presence causes you pain, Captain, I could take my supper in my room, or with Sir de Courcillon—”

“No,” he said. “That isn’t necessary, de Sardet. You’re a passenger, and a guest aboard the _Sea Horse_ ; I wouldn’t confine you to your bunk like some misbehaving crewman who needs to be thrown in the brig.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I doubt that your cousin would understand.”

“You are right, of course. Is there anything I could do to ease your discomfort?”

“I’m afraid not. As I’ve said, it’s my own problem to deal with.”

“If there’s anything I can do—”

Vasco smiled then, showing white teeth against tanned skin. “Thank you, de Sardet, but I’m the one who ought to be asking if there’s anything I can do for you.”

She hesitated, wondering if she ought to test the captain’s goodwill, then spoke. “Actually, there is.”

Vasco looked surprised; she thought that he hadn’t actually believed she would ask. “Which is?”

“What _is_ the difference between a ship and a boat?” 

The sound of Captain Vasco’s laughter rolled across the deck of the ship.


	23. Last Days Aboard Ship

The rest of the voyage passed in a blur. Captain Vasco was friendlier toward her, if not precisely warm, and he seemed to make an effort to be less taciturn. The crew appreciated that, and even Constantin remarked on the captain’s change of heart.

“He seems more animated than usual, cousin,” he noted one night after supper. “I could almost believe that you have captured his affections.”

“Hardly,” de Sardet answered.

“Maybe the sailor’s developed better taste,” Kurt offered. Constantin shot him an offended glare, and Kurt only gave him a guileless look in reply. “I only meant that his opinion of her seems to have improved. What did you think I meant, Your Highness?”

De Sardet had to smile. While she still spent her fair share of time with Constantin, she’d realized that she’d spent more time aboard the _Sea Horse_ with Kurt than she had previously. _Or perhaps it only feels like it,_ she thought. _At the palace in Serene, Kurt was always following me, but I never realized how little time we had to talk._

Aboard the ship, there was nothing but time. She took to practicing with Kurt more often; where the first weeks aboard the ship had been something of a holiday, she spent the last training more than she had in Serene. It drew the notice of the crew, and soon, Kurt was giving lessons to some of them as well, offering pointers on keeping a firmer grip or a better stance.

“I thought the Coin Guard charged for their time,” Vasco said one day, coming to observe them.

“If you want to pay me, sailor, I’ve no objection.” Kurt sheathed his sword, looking to the sailor he’d been helping. “I’d say we’re done here. Master that first weapon before you pick up a second; the offhand dagger won’t do you any good until you’re better with the rapier.” The woman nodded her thanks and moved off. De Sardet thought that the two captains’ opinions of each other had improved as well; at least, Vasco had seemed more sympathetic toward Kurt after he’d seen the scars he’d taken, and Kurt seemed less hostile toward Vasco after he’d made the effort to be cordial to de Sardet.

_We should have had the crossing celebration sooner,_ de Sardet couldn’t help thinking. _Though then it couldn’t have marked Constantin’s birthday as well as the halfway mark of our passage._

“I think you’ve already won enough from my crew,” Vasco replied. “Lauro was complaining that you cleaned him out the other night.”

“The dice fell in my favor, that’s all. I’m not usually one for gaming, but Jonas asked me if I’d like to join them, and I thought I’d try my luck.”

“I’m fond of cards, myself. Though it’s been a while since I’ve made a wager.”

“We should play one night!” Constantin suggested. “After supper.”

Kurt eyed him. “I think the size of your bets would be more than the sailor or I could afford. I’m not sure of the Nauts’ wages, but I’ve seen what you lay down at the tables, and I know it would be too rich for me.”

“You’re going to make Captain Vasco think I don’t pay you enough,” Constantin complained.

“As if you pay my salary?”

“I will now. Now that you’re the captain of _my_ palace guard, in _my_ new city.” Constantin was growing more and more excited the longer the voyage wore on, importuning the navigator and lookouts every day in the hopes that the ship might land sooner than expected. “Who knows? I might give you enough to buy some new clothing. I can hardly have the captain of my guard in those rags, now can I?”

De Sardet winced; she knew that the offhanded comment would hurt Kurt’s pride, especially spoken as it was in front of Vasco and several of the _Sea Horse_ ’s crew. But before she could intervene, Constantin went on. “I’ve offered fifty golden florins to the first man to sight land. Perhaps you’ll spend the rest of the voyage in the crow’s nest with Lauro.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve no desire to break my neck.” Kurt looked up at the towering mast. “I’ve no idea how he does it, let alone as drunk as he usually is.”

“Maybe you have to be a little drunk to want to climb that high,” de Sardet suggested.

“Spoken like two land-dwellers who’ve never climbed up the shrouds or scaled a mast,” Vasco said. “The beauty of it up there…the sun, the wind, the ocean, as far as you can see…it’s one of the most glorious sights there is.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t beautiful,” de Sardet answered. “I’m only saying I’d be terrified to try.”

“What’s life without a little risk?” Constantin asked. He looked up, and de Sardet thought that he might be getting ideas. “I’d try it!”

“No, you won’t,” Kurt answered.

“Who’s to say I won’t?”

“I am. I’m in charge of protecting you. A Naut might be able to get up there without falling, but for a pampered prince such as yourself, it would be suicide.”

Constantin bristled. “I could do it!”

“You almost got yourself killed by a mast falling on you. You’re not going to die by falling from the mast.”

Constantin stripped off his doublet, and de Sardet sighed; she knew that challenging his pride was a surefire way to get Constantin to dig in his heels. _Kurt knows it too,_ she thought. But the captain’s patience with his charge was often tried, and she thought his remark about his salary must have stung.

Constantin started toward the mast, and she saw Vasco’s concern. “Your Highness, no Naut climbs so high their first day aboard ship.”

“Well, it’s a good thing this isn’t my first day aboard.”

“Your feet haven’t left the deck,” Kurt said. He actually tried to move forward, to take his arm, but Constantin shook him off.

De Sardet thought of an incident fifteen years before. Constantin d’Orsay had been nine, Alexandra de Sardet eight, and Constantin had nearly fallen to his death then. “Please don’t,” she said. “Constantin, they are right. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s an adventure! A little danger adds spice to life.”

“Not this,” she said. “Don’t you remember what happened when you climbed the city walls? You nearly fell!”

“I would have made it,” he said, then paused. “Well, I might have. Perhaps it was foolish. Listening to my father always was a fool’s errand.” A dark look passed across his face, but he quickly brightened, as he always did. “You saved me then! Climbed up after me and brought me down.”

“I was terrified every minute,” she answered honestly. The memory had given her nightmares for a while: how windy it had been, how precarious the handholds, how high. She’d dreamt of reaching out for Constantin and falling, and had awakened before hitting the ground every time. “Please don’t make me do it again.”

Constantin looked at her, and then at the crow’s nest, and then sighed. “Fine! Though I do think it would be great fun.”

“You should pick up a rapier and practice,” Kurt suggested. “You haven’t lifted a sword in weeks.”

“Come now, Kurt? When will it matter? It isn’t as if the governor of New Serene will be expected to defend himself. I’ll have an entire regiment of guards devoted to my protection.”

“If you run about the streets of the city as you usually do, I’d expect you to find trouble,” Kurt answered. “You seem to have a talent for leaving your guards behind. You got yourself captured in Serene; if you do the same in New Serene, your cousin may be too busy with her diplomatic duties to come and save you.”

“My fair cousin will never be too busy to rescue her damsel in distress, I’m sure!”

De Sardet had to smile. “I hope you won’t require rescuing…but I will always find you.”

Constantin, bored, looked to Kurt; then, his gaze fell upon the sword Vasco wore at his side. “The two of you should fight!” Constantin said enthusiastically. “I’d love to see it! A duel of the captains!”

“Oh no,” Kurt answered. “I know better than to challenge a man in front of his troops.”

“I know it’s said the Nauts poison their blades. Is that true?”

“It is, though we only poison them when we know we’re heading into combat, and clean them soon after,” Vasco answered.

“What sort of poisons? My mother is something of an expert.”

“I can show you, if you’d like.” The two headed off, and de Sardet was left with Kurt.

“You did a good thing, talking him out of that foolishness,” Kurt told her. “I’d hate to have gone after him. Though maybe a little fall wouldn’t have been bad for him. A broken arm might teach him caution.”

“I doubt it.” She paused. “I keep thinking about Teer Fradee,” she admitted. “I will look after Constantin as much as I can, but my duties as legate are likely to take me from the city often. I will certainly have to begin by visiting the governors at San Matheus and Hikmet, and after that, there will undoubtedly be delegations to the natives, perhaps dealings with the Nauts…”

“At least the sailor seems friendlier.”

“I doubt we’ll see him again once we’ve docked. The _Sea Horse_ will undoubtedly return to Serene. I hope Constantin won’t be too unhappy.”

“Constantin will have forgotten all about him within five minutes of setting foot on land.”

De Sardet had to smile; she knew her cousin well enough to know that Kurt was speaking the truth. “I hope that won’t upset Captain Vasco.”

“I doubt it. Man has too much sense for that. He’d know better than to think there’d ever be anything more than that between him and a noble. I don’t think either of them ever planned on developing an attachment.”

It was, of course, the truth; even a short-lived arrangement of convenience between a Naut and the only son of the Prince d’Orsay would have been a matter of gossip at the court in Serene. A romance would have been utterly out of the question, an utter impossibility so ridiculous that de Sardet could not imagine anyone ever making the attempt.

Even so, put so bluntly, it took de Sardet aback. _Why?_ It wasn’t as if Kurt’s habit of speaking plain truths should be shocking to her. “I hope they will part as friends,” she said.

“I’m sure they will,” Kurt said, and she felt better, for reasons she still could not quite articulate to herself. “They still seem friendly enough.”

“I’m almost sad the voyage is coming to an end soon.”

“Don’t tell me you want to run off and join the Nauts!”

“No, but you have to admit, it’s been pleasant. It’s so much less tense here than at court.”

“I certainly haven’t had to worry as much about whether or not any of the sailors has a dagger up their sleeve,” said Kurt.

“And we’ve had more time to get to know each other. I don’t think I heard you tell half as many stories in Serene as I have in the last three months. I certainly never knew you were as good at dicing as Lauro says, or that you’d sailed with the Nauts before.”

“You knew I’d served on the border between Theleme and the Bridge before coming to the Congregation. Did you think I’d walked?” Theleme and the Congregation did share a land border, but Theleme was a large kingdom, the Congregation of Merchants to its east while the fighting was in the west, and Serene was on the eastern side of the Congregation at that.

“I’d never thought about it,” she admitted. “I should have shown greater interest.”

"It wouldn’t have been seemly. Everyone always watching everyone else, more concerned with the appearance of propriety than the actuality of it…I hope that New Serene will be different. A new start.”

Kurt seemed thoughtful as well. “Maybe it will be at that.” 


	24. Teer Fradee Ahoy!

“Teer Fradee ahoy!” Lauro called as a flock of seabirds flew across the ship.

De Sardet moved toward the bow of the ship; Captain Vasco was already there, leaning forward, grinning.

“There’s your island,” he said; it loomed over them, a vast green shape dominated by a dead volcano in the island’s center.

“It’s breathtaking,” she said, and meant it. _It truly is lovely._ A green land against a light blue sky and blue-green waters beneath; as Vasco had said, the waters seemed impossibly clear, and she could see a school of silvery fish darting beneath them.

“If you’ve any last business to conduct aboard the ship, you’d best get to it,” said Vasco. “Say your goodbyes, that sort of thing. Once we get into port, everyone will be too busy.”

But de Sardet was transfixed by the sight of the island. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. _And strangely familiar._ As the island came into view, there was a strange feeling, deep within her: the sense of connection, as if she was finally coming home, not seeing a new land for the first time.

_It isn’t Serene,_ she reminded herself. _It isn’t Gacane._ The two could never have been mistaken for one another: Serene seemed permanently shrouded in haze, a fog of pollution that hovered endlessly over the city, tarnishing the buildings and making the air heavy and hard to breathe. There were few trees in sight, and the waters had a greasy sheen of filth, a layer of scum on the top that turned their color into a muddy greenish-gray, or that sometimes even gave it a sickly yellowish cast to match the sky.

By contrast, Teer Fradee was everything that Captain Vasco had described: a bright blue sky, a verdant green island, and impossibly clear turquoise waters. The air was fresh, the sun bright, and the ocean had a clean salt smell.

_There must be hundreds of birds,_ she thought as they flew past: white sea-birds, ordinary gulls, but in larger numbers than she had ever seen in Serene, and without any sort of sickly yellowish tinge to their feathers, or any black stains of soot. She looked into the waters, and saw a school of silvery fish darting around the ship, hundreds or perhaps thousands of fish in the shallows.

“Behold! My island!” Constantin was grinning widely, brimming with excitement, looking for all the world as if he might dive over the edge of the ship and swim to shore. “Teer Fradee!”

Again, de Sardet felt that strange tug, the sensation of familiarity and belonging. _Like I’ve come home._ She shook off the feeling, wondering at it. _You’ve been too long at sea. You’re eager to set foot on shore again, that’s all._

“New Serene ahoy!” Lauro called out, and Constantin looked up to the crow’s nest.

“Fifty florins for you!” he shouted back. “I haven’t forgotten my promise, you know!”

“Do you have fifty florins on you?” De Sardet had not brought a large amount of spending money with her; she was not a gambler or a drinker, and hadn’t anticipated a need. _As legate, I’ll be able to charge my expenses to the palace; that will cover all my ordinary needs._

“But of course! How else would you expect me to get by? It’s a mere trifle.”

De Sardet saw Vasco glance at him at that, and wondered how much a Naut captain’s salary was. _How much does any Naut make?_ She hadn’t asked. _How much does Kurt make, for that matter?_ She was woefully ignorant as to their pay. Thinking of Kurt’s threadbare undershirt, with its patched elbows and fraying hem, she wondered about Captain Vasco’s weather-worn garments, and how they contrasted with Constantin’s lace-cuffed shirts, or her own simpler, lighter silk ones.

“Look,” Constantin told her; he was bounding around the deck, unable to contain his excitement. “I think I can see the city!” It was a mere smudge in the distance, a darker patch where the verdant green of the island met the vibrant blue-green of the sea, but it was drawing nearer every second. “Isn’t this thrilling? To be so close to the start of our new adventure…a new beginning, a new life…free of those who have oppressed and belittled us at every turn!”

_Free of your father,_ she thought, knowing it was what he meant.

“So that’s the island,” Kurt said, coming up from below deck. “Jonas told me we’d arrived.” He let out a low whistle. “It’s like nothing you’d see on the continent, that’s for sure.”

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Constantin said.

“Glorious,” Kurt agreed. He looked to Vasco. “I thought we were landing in winter?”

“The end of winter,” Vasco agreed. “The seasons on the island aren’t as pronounced as the continent; it’s more a rainy season and a dry one than four distinct seasons. Summer is warmer, but it’s not the difference between the scorching heat that Serene sees in the summer and the icy cold temperatures you see in winter; the harbors here are never in any danger of freezing over, and I’ve never heard a captain say they’ve seen ice or snow here. The ground might see a touch of frost overnight in the depths of winter, but that’s all.”

“I’d say the Congregation doesn’t get real snow, either,” Kurt said. “When I was stationed in Brystanor, my first duty posting, I saw snow then. Inches of it, and actually white, not the dusting of gray slush that Serene usually sees if it happens.” He paused, then shook his head. “Nowadays, I don’t know that any country on the continent sees snow that white.”

“We’ve had snow,” de Sardet objected. “When I was a girl. We had a snowball fight in the courtyard. Don’t you remember?”

“I do at that,” Kurt said. A smile touched his lips. “I don’t think you’ll have that chance here, Green Blood.”

“Who would want it?” Constantin asked. He swept a hand toward the island. “Who would care for cold and ice when you could live in paradise? Have you ever seen anything like it in your life?”

“No,” Kurt replied, and de Sardet shook her head.

“If you’ll excuse me, things will be rather busy from here on out,” Vasco said as one of the crew called to him. “If you’ll make sure your things are packed, a member of the crew will make sure they’re offloaded.”

“And my things in the hold?” Constantin asked.

“Gustavo has marked all your personal possessions as such. They’ll escape the inspections of the customs officials and be transported directly to the palace,” said Vasco. “The same will be true of Sir de Courcillon’s and Captain Kurt’s. Legate, yours will be taken to the legate’s residence.”

“Is that necessary?” asked Constantin. He looked to de Sardet. “Surely you’d prefer to stay in the palace until you’ve had a chance to inspect your dwelling. Perhaps there’s a previous legate who would like a chance to vacate.”

“They’ve had plenty of notice,” de Sardet pointed out. “And we hardly know if the palace will have room for me.”

“It is a palace! Of course there will be room.”

De Sardet conceded. “If you think it best.”

“I would not have it otherwise.” Constantin turned to Vasco, but he held up a hand.

“I’ll inform Gustavo of the change. The men won’t mind; it’ll make things easier on them, being able to take it all to the palace. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“But of course! The sooner you can bring us into New Serene, the happier I will be. Go on, go on!”

Vasco moved off, and Constantin, de Sardet, and Kurt were left to stare at the city as they drew nearer. It was very much a new settlement, but some aspects of it reminded de Sardet of the city they had left behind: the Nauts’ quarter against the waterfront, two-story purple warehouses against the docks, with wooden buildings beyond and a distant palace rising on a hill over the city.

“It may be very new, but we’ll make it into a city that will be even greater than the one we’ve left behind! New Serene, marvel of the new world and the old, center of the civilized world,” Constantin said. He looked down at his clothing, an ordinary doublet of soft blue with a stained cravat. “I must change. I want to look my very best.”

De Sardet looked down at her own clothing; she wore her favorite embroidered doublet, a worn garment whose rich blue color had long ago faded to a softer shade. The brocade was fraying and worn in places, the cuffs hemmed and repaired, but it was comfortable, and she associated it with memories of happier times, before her mother had been diagnosed with the malichor. _It was the last gift I received from her before we knew she was sick. She found out not long after I turned twenty-three._ It had been nearly two years: she realized with a start that it would be her birthday soon, and she would be twenty-five years old.

_How is she? Has she grown worse? Is she in pain? Is she still alive?_ The thought hurt, and de Sardet pushed it away. _She is still alive. Until I hear otherwise, I must believe it. She is alive, and I will write her a letter to be sent back to Serene with Captain Vasco and the_ Sea Horse, _or whichever of the Naut ships is making the next voyage out._

“Look, Green Blood. You can see the palace,” said Kurt. “Do you think it will have all the luxuries Constantin is accustomed to?”

“I’ll be happy if it has a bathtub,” she replied. “If there’s one thing I’ve missed from the palace, it’s a nice, hot bath.”

“That is a luxury worth having indeed,” he agreed. “When I first came to the Congregation, I told my commanding officer that it was the best part of the assignment. I’m sorry to say she did not agree.”

“What did she say was best?”

“Not being shot at.” De Sardet blinked, wondering if he was joking, but Kurt gave no clue one way or another. “Well, I’d best go see to the commander’s cargo. We’ve gotten it this far; I’ve no intention of seeing it mislabeled or taken by customs agents.”

De Sardet pulled at the sleeve of her doublet. “And I had better change. We’re likely to be greeted by the former governor, and this will hardly make a good first impression.” She glanced at the island one last time before following Kurt below deck.


	25. Coming Ashore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've standardized Lady Morange's title to Lady de Morange, to match usage for the other lords/ladies we see.

Constantin bounded from the ship as eagerly as he’d boarded; de Sardet could hear the sound of his voice carrying over the water, but she was slower to leave. _He knows I will catch up when I can._ They had already made arrangements: Constantin would go on with whichever dignitaries were sent to greet them, while de Sardet would remain at the port for a short time to tie up any necessary formalities. She’d already found some of the sailors who’d been particularly kind to her, bidding farewell to each of them and thanking them for the voyage, and she had plans to do the same with Captain Vasco at a more opportune time; at the moment, he was nowhere to be found, and she overheard Carmen remarking to Flavia that she had heard a certain Admiral Cabral had insisted that the captain meet with her as soon as they’d docked.

“Lady de Sardet,” she heard a familiar voice say; turning, she saw Jonas. The cabin boy scuffed his feet against the deck shyly, but smiled at her. “I wanted to thank you again for bringing me home. I hope you’ll find a good home here.”

“So do I,” she replied. “I’m glad that you’re happy among your own people.”

“I am. I think maybe I’ll finally get my tattoos.”

“I hope you do.”

“Lady de Sardet,” said Sir de Courcillon, coming up to the deck; it was the first time she had seen him there in weeks, an expression of relief plain on his face. “I am so glad we’re finally here. It seemed the voyage would never end.”

“And here I thought it went more quickly than I could have imagined.” She looked to the city. “Yet I am glad to be here. Will you accompany me down?”

“In a moment. I am handling the shipping of a few cargo crates for your uncle; he has asked me to ensure that they are taken care of properly by the Nauts. Oh, there’s no intrigue involved; it is all government documents, along with certain books of law and history that he thought might prove useful. But I must make sure the Nauts do not unseal anything that your uncle would not wish them to see; there are some among them who would not hesitate to sell our government’s secrets, even at the expense of our alliance.”

“I hope that would not be true.”

“One would hope, but it is always best to be safe. Now, if you’ll excuse me…you should join your cousin on shore. I would not have him getting into trouble already!”

De Sardet smiled. “Have no fear. You know I will look after Constantin.”

“My only fear is what I shall do when you are away on your own duties. He has not listened to me in years…if indeed he ever did! I think my lessons too often went unheeded.”

“Well, at least one of us listened.” De Sardet patted his arm. “Do not worry.”

As de Courcillon hurried off, she doubted that her fretful tutor would listen to her advice. _He will handle whatever business my uncle has instructed him to, Kurt is handling his commander’s crates…and I will handle Constantin._ That thought in mind, she descended the gangplank.

A doctor in a plague mask met her as soon as she’d descended, holding out a wooden bowl. “The fortifiers,” she remembered. Sir de Courcillon had warned her about them, saying that a dose of medicine would be necessary as soon as they’d departed the ship; it was thought that a long sea-voyage weakened the constitution, and that without them, the chance of falling ill and dying soon after landing was greatly increased.

_He said they taste terrible._ As she drank, she grimaced. “The taste is indeed terrible,” she said aloud. “Sir de Courcillon was right.”

The doctor moved on, and she caught sight of Constantin, standing with a woman she knew to be Lady Laurine de Morange, Constantin’s predecessor as governor. As she moved closer, she saw both Constantin and Lady de Morange turn to look at her, and she raised her bowl toward Constantin. “To your health!” she called out, seeing the bowl in Constantin’s hand.

Constantin laughed. “You got your dose of bile too!” He turned to the woman at his side, with her vibrant red dress and starched lace collar. “Allow me to present Lady de Morange, and to you, my dear lady, my most trusted cousin.” He craned his neck, looking around. “Where is the captain?”

She knew he did not mean Kurt. _I knew he would want to say goodbye._ “He seems to be preoccupied with some sort of admiral…” Catching sight of him, she saw Captain Vasco arguing fiercely with an older Naut woman whose face was even more adorned with tattoos than Vasco’s; as she watched, he bowed his head, his shoulders sagging in a gesture of defeat.

“Indeed,” said Constantin. “Then I will have to thank him later for this most marvelous voyage.” Without missing a beat, he turned back to Lady de Morange. “Excellency, lead me to the palace, I beg you! And, whenever possible, go by way of all the intriguing alleyways. I am dying with impatience to discover this new city…my city!” As if to punctuate his words, he cast the medicine bowl aside, spreading his arms wide.

Lady de Morange looked entirely lost; that too made de Sardet smile. _I do not know that Lady de Morange was much at my uncle’s court before her departure. If she does not remember him, and was expecting someone more like my uncle…_ Constantin’s boundless enthusiasm for life and the Prince d’Orsay’s measured coldness could not have been more different.

“Ah, Your Excellency,” Lady de Morange called out, dismayed. “We must wait for our escort!” She hurried to catch up.

“No need! Have no fear, for I am here to defend you, my lady!” Constantin bounded ahead, and de Sardet smiled fondly at him as she watched him disappear into the distance.

As he did, Vasco approached her; her smile vanished as she saw the unhappy look on his face. “I’ve been scullied!”

“How so?” she asked as Kurt approached. 

“My admiral laid me off.”

“My cousin was nonetheless delighted with your services,” she said, and cast a sideways look at Kurt as he turned a snicker into a cough. “I hope there was no misunderstanding.”

Vasco was too upset to notice. “None, I’m sure of it. She just ordered me to ‘give you any assistance you might need.’”

“This request doesn’t seem to please you,” she said carefully; she could tell Vasco was truly angry, and hoped it had nothing to do with her.

“Don’t take offense, but it’s not pleasant for a captain to abandon his ship.” He sighed, and tried to force a note of cheer into his voice – or, at least, to lessen his obvious anger. “In any case, here I am, at your service…for a while,” he said resignedly. He cast a glance back at the _Sea Horse_ , and de Sardet could see a flash of longing cut through his anger.

“Do you need to retrieve your things?”

“There’s no need,” he said. “Admiral Cabral has informed me that they will be packed and sent on to your residence.” His jaw worked. “In fact, she has ordered me not to go back aboard. She said she will inform the crew herself.”

“Those are hard orders to swallow, I’m sure,” Kurt said, and she heard the note of sympathy in his voice. “To be dismissed is one thing, but to not be allowed to say farewell to your men, or give them a word of explanation as to why you’re going—”

“The admiral would hardly give me a word,” Vasco interrupted, his frustration shining through in every moment. “Said that it would all be clear in time, but for now, the Nauts needed a liaison with the Congregation, and I’m the best man for the job. ‘You are under Legate de Sardet’s command now. Follow her orders as if she were a Naut, and your commander.’”

“She said nothing of this to me, I promise you. I’ve never even met her. Nor do I believe Constantin knew anything of it.”

“He’d better not have,” Vasco growled.

“If he had, he’d have told you,” Kurt reassured him, and de Sardet was surprised: both at his sympathetic tone toward the Naut captain and his conviction regarding Constantin. “He wouldn’t have kept it from you for the whole of the voyage. He couldn’t have. He’s not the sort for secrets…and given where he comes from, that’s saying something.”

“Well, it seems my reason for being scullied must remain a secret from all of us, at least for the time being. I’ll do what I can for you, de Sardet, but I’m afraid that the skills of a ship’s captain will have little use on shore.”

“Nonetheless, I will be happy to have you at my side,” she replied. “Perhaps I can continue to correct the poor first impression I made.”

“I told you, that had nothing to do with you.” Again, Vasco looked back at his ship, and the crew who were bustling around the deck, offloading cargo and hauling crates.

“Shall we meet Constantin at the palace? If your personal effects are being delivered to the legate’s house, I should instruct the men here to do the same for mine.”

“And mine too, Green Blood,” Kurt told her. “Constantin told me this morning that he expects me to serve as your personal guard. If you’re going to be staying at the legate’s house, I should be there too.”

“I’ll be happy to have you with me, but…surely Constantin will want you in the palace? As captain of his guard—”

“Constantin would have been happier if I had stayed in Serene,” Kurt replied. It was truer than she wanted to admit: Constantin had complained about Kurt’s presence more than once on the voyage, seeing both him and Sir de Courcillon as his father’s spies, minders meant to curtail his own authority instead of companions in a distant land. “He’ll be happier with me out of the palace, though I won’t neglect my duties to him. I’ll do everything I can to make sure he’s safe, Green Blood, I promise you that.”

“I know you will.” She looked to Vasco. “Who would I speak with about altering those arrangements?”

“I will handle it,” said Sir de Courcillon. “I did not hear the entirety of your conversation, but I did hear that much. I will arrange to have your belongings sent to the legate’s residence, along with Captain Kurt’s.”

“Thank you,” de Sardet replied. “If there’s anything I can do for you in return, please, let me know.”

“If you could find the time to speak with me in the coming days, once we’ve had time to settle in, I would appreciate it.”

“I will.”

They made their way through the city, down a main thoroughfare where a merchant called his wares, then up to the central square of the city, where a statue of the Prince d’Orsay looked down at them.

“I wonder how long until Constantin wants to tear that down and replace it with one of himself,” said Kurt, amused. “He can’t have been happy to lay eyes on that.”

“Who is it?” Vasco asked.

“My uncle,” she explained. “The Prince d’Orsay.”

“So that’s what he looks like.”

“Well, not exactly,” Kurt said. “I don’t think the most talented sculptors have come to Teer Fradee yet.”

“Perhaps they were doing it from memory,” de Sardet suggested.

“Without a drawing? I wonder how much Lady de Morange paid them for that travesty.”

“Travesty? Kurt, I didn’t know you were an art critic.”

“You wouldn’t need to have a good eye for art to call it that,” said Vasco. “The proportions are off. You can see it from here.”

They moved past the statue and to the legate’s house. “The door is unlocked,” she said, surprised.

“It would have to be, wouldn’t it? They wouldn’t expect you to be here to let the Nauts in to drop off your luggage.”

“Excuse me, but who—Your Excellency,” a woman in servant’s garb said, stopping short as she caught sight of de Sardet, Vasco, and Kurt. She curtseyed low, bowing her head. “We had heard that you were arriving today. I am Marie, your lady’s maid. Robert and Thomas will be the other primary members of your household; Thomas will be your butler, Robert the cook. They’ll also help me with any cleaning that needs doing, though most of that is my task. I’ll borrow a maid or two from the palace if it gets to be too much, but the arrangement worked for the last legate – not that he did much, mind you.”

De Sardet knew little about her predecessor, and made a mental note to ask Lady de Morange or Sir de Courcillon as soon as possible. “Thank you. As I can see you already know, I am Lady de Sardet, the new legate of the Congregation; this is Captain Kurt of the Coin Guard, my cousin’s captain of the guard, and Captain Vasco of the Nauts. As Captain Kurt is also serving as my personal bodyguard, and Captain Vasco has been personally appointed by Admiral Cabral as my liaison to the Nauts, both of them will be staying here with me; I hope there are enough suitable rooms you can make ready.”

“Suitable rooms? There are servants’ lodgings below stairs—”

De Sardet frowned. “Captain Vasco is my guest, and Captain Kurt is a distinguished officer of the Coin Guard. Aren’t there guest rooms that are appropriately furnished?”

Marie looked surprised, but adjusted readily. “But of course! The legate’s household has no shortage of bedrooms; there are half a dozen empty rooms they might use. Not including your bedroom, of course; that has already been made ready.”

“Their luggage will be arriving shortly, with my own. If you would be so kind as to see to it…”

“Yes, my lady.” Marie curtseyed again, and de Sardet turned to Vasco and Kurt. “Shall we greet my cousin?”


	26. Scullied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very lengthy Vasco chapter! May be the last for a bit, since I have to "fill in" the early weeks in Serene (expect another large burst once that's done, since I have another large block of chapters covering Kurt and Siora's first quests and Scholars in the Expedition all finished.)

They met with Constantin in the entrance hallway of his palace; Lady de Morange was at his side, looking rather overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. “Cousin, this is wonderful!” he exclaimed as he saw de Sardet. “Let me show you everything. Lady de Morange has already been so kind as to give me a tour of the palace, and it is truly magnificent.” He didn’t wait for a reply; instead, he dashed up a short flight of stairs and into his throne room, where a small wooden chair upon a raised flight of steps stood in an enormous room.

_This may be the largest room I’ve ever been in in my life,_ Vasco thought. It was larger than any warehouse he’d ever been in, and certainly more magnificent: the floors were polished hardwood, one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows of clear glass that let in an immense amount of natural light.

“It is very different from the palace in Serene,” de Sardet observed.

“In what way?” Vasco asked.

“It’s much less…grand, I suppose,” she said. “Less austere. The Hall of Merchants…my uncle’s throne room…it is all cold marble. Black and white flooring, great stone columns, an immense golden throne beneath a canopy of state.”

_Less grand?_ Vasco wanted to ask. This palace was a study in luxury, and the entrance hall had featured plenty of marble.

Kurt caught the look he was giving de Sardet. “The palace in Serene is enormous,” he said. “Hundreds of rooms, not dozens. You’d get lost in it.”

“This palace is still immense,” Constantin said, overhearing. “It may not be a fraction of the size of my father’s palace, but it is entirely mine!” He spread his arms and spun around in the middle of the throne room, whooping as he had upon the deck of the _Sea Horse_ , and then turned and sprinted up the short flight of steps to his throne, where he sprawled out in a most un-noble-like fashion.

De Sardet laughed, even as Lady de Morange looked caught between surprise and scandal. “I’m glad to see you like it.”

“Have you been to that tiny house of yours?”

“It is hardly tiny,” de Sardet replied. “If you consider that the entirety of the legate’s house is for my use, it’s larger than my suite in the palace back home.”

“If you would like to relocate, the palace does have sufficient guest quarters for you,” said Constantin.

“As well as Kurt and Captain Vasco?”

“Most of the palace guards sleep in the barracks, but…do you mean to say that you will be staying ashore, Captain?”

Constantin looked to Vasco, and Vasco had to admit that he felt slightly uncomfortable. _The last thing I would want is for him to think that I asked to remain ashore._ “My admiral has asked me to assist Legate de Sardet,” he said. “I’m to remain with her until otherwise ordered.”

“Admiral Cabral did send a messenger asking that a representative of the Nauts be allowed to act as a liaison to the legate, but I had not imagined it would be you.”

“Neither did I,” Vasco said dryly, trying to contain his anger. _You are a diplomat now, or something like one._ He hadn’t the least idea of how he’d manage that, but he knew that he had to try. “My admiral laid me off.”

“I am very sorry to hear it. I assure you, I gave the messenger my best regards.”

“I have already offered to clear up any misunderstanding,” de Sardet said, “but the admiral seemed to have made her decision before we even made landfall.”

“Would you like me to ask her to reassign you? If you’re truly displeased—”

“No,” Vasco said. “It’ll do no good. The admiral has her reasons, she says, even if she won’t give them to me. I have my orders, and I’ll have to obey.”

“Well, then, it seems there’s nothing to be done about it,” said Constantin. “But if you would like to stay at the palace—”

“The Nauts have already moved our things into the legate’s house, and we’ve met the house staff,” said de Sardet. “We won’t be very far away; it isn’t a two-minute walk to the palace steps.”

Constantin pouted. “I would think you didn’t want to stay with me, cousin.”

“It certainly isn’t that. But I don’t want to put anyone else to more trouble,” de Sardet replied, “and if it is the custom here for the legate to keep her own house, then I feel I ought to do so. I would hardly want to put the house staff out of work, or step on anyone’s toes.”

“You are the legate here! Second only to myself,” Constantin said, and as Vasco saw Lady de Morange stiffen slightly, he wondered if the new governor had just offended his predecessor. “If you wish to live here, you need not worry about who you’re inconveniencing. We can find a room for Captain Vasco, Kurt can stay in the barracks with the other Coin Guard, and you could have a suite upstairs.”

Vasco thought of the fine room he’d been given and then of the barracks he’d lived in on the Naut island, and wondered what Kurt thought of that arrangement; the guard was stone-faced, not reacting at all to Constantin’s proposal.

“Thank you, but I’ll stay in the legate’s house,” de Sardet said. Vasco saw her glance quickly at Lady de Morange before looking back to Constantin, and wondered if she was expressing her own preference, or trying to avoid making an enemy.

_Or being thoughtful toward a friend,_ he thought, glancing at Kurt. He was certain the Coin Guard wouldn’t have complained about being reassigned to the barracks, but he was equally certain that Kurt would prefer to remain near both his charges. _I’m sure he’s used to a soldier’s life, but he seems the sort to be especially conscientious about his duties, and it seems to me that it would be easier to be a personal guard when not sleeping halfway across the city from those you’re sworn to protect._

“You must visit me often,” Constantin said. “This palace is wonderful, but it will feel very empty if I am the only one here.”

“You’ll hardly be the only one; I’m sure you’ll find yourself surrounded by ministers and courtiers soon enough,” de Sardet answered. “But I will come and visit you every day, if you’d like, and I’m sure we’ll have supper together whenever there isn’t other business that demands our attention.”

Constantin clapped his hands together, sitting up in the chair. “As we did aboard Captain Vasco’s ship! Yes, I insist.” He sprang up from the chair. “But come, let me show you my rooms. Perhaps you’ll reconsider when you see my suite. You could have one just like it!”

He bounded from the room without waiting. De Sardet turned, gave Lady de Morange and her companions a helpless smile, and followed. “Constantin, wait up!”

Vasco, Kurt, and Lady de Morange followed, but at a more sedate pace; Constantin was taking the steps two at a time, and de Sardet was racing after him.

Lady de Morange turned. “Is he always like this?” she asked, sounding overwhelmed as she pressed a hand to her throat.

“Not always,” Kurt said, sounding amused. “But often enough.”

Constantin gave them a tour of the palace before they sat down to dinner. Sir de Courcillon joined them, having settled into his own accommodations; Vasco noted that he already looked much better than he had aboard the _Sea Horse_. Lady de Morange attempted to give Constantin a description of his duties, the ministers he would meet, and the itinerary she had planned, but Constantin was already waxing enthusiastic over everything he had seen that day.

When the dinner came to an end, Constantin sighed. “Well, it has been a wonderful day. Thank you, Lady de Morange, Sir de Courcillon.”

“Are you staying in the palace as well?” de Sardet asked de Courcillon.

“Yes. I have a suite near my office, on one of the upper floors.”

“Are you sure you do not want to stay?” Constantin looked hopefully to his cousin, as if he thought she might relent.

“I am sure. I know it’s strange,” said de Sardet. “We’ve scarcely ever been so far apart. But the legate’s house is scarcely a stone’s throw from the palace, and I’m sure I’ll be here so often that it will be very nearly the same.”

“The legate is often expected to entertain dignitaries separately from the governor,” Lady de Morange supplied. “Keeping separate households will assist you in that.”

“It will also keep a greater number of servants employed,” de Courcillon supplied. “The legate’s household is small at present, but you may choose to increase its numbers. That will surely be a boon to those looking for positions.”

“The previous legate looked upon the post as a sinecure,” Lady de Morange agreed. “Sir de Courtenay paid little attention to his duties, and was generally of little help; he would give dinner parties for emissaries of Theleme or the Bridge Alliance, but rarely ventured out of the city. He did keep a larger household, but most of those returned with him to Serene.” She smiled. “I hope you will prove a more conscientious legate than your predecessor, Lady de Sardet.”

“I certainly intend that to be the case,” said de Sardet.

“And I intend to be a most conscientious governor,” said Constantin. “I hope you will not be too angry with me for usurping your place; I must admit, when my father informed me that I would be given the governorship, it was the last thing in the world I wanted. To be banished from not only Serene, but from the Congregation, and even from Gacane entirely, sent halfway across the world to a remote island, perhaps never to return…well, you must understand my hesitation!”

He didn’t wait for Lady de Morange to reply. “Yet it wasn’t long before I realized that this island represents opportunity as well as exile…and I must admit, I find myself enchanted with everything I have seen thus far.”

That drew a warm smile from Laurine de Morange. “It is truly beautiful,” she agreed. “When I first made landfall five years ago, there was little more than a ramshackle collection of wooden huts beyond the docks. I must admit, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.”

“What you have built is truly amazing,” Constantin said, and his gushing compliments were entirely sincere. Vasco had to admit that it was one of the most endearing qualities of the man: his enthusiasm was infectious, his joy boundless, and he lavished compliments and praise upon others without reservation. “I hope that I can build upon what you have created here. I fully intend that you should be one of my closest advisors.”

“I will certainly be glad to do so. This island is truly a wondrous place, and I have worked hard to make New Serene into the jewel of the island. Already we rival Hikmet and San Matheus, though those cities have both existed for far longer than our own, but I hope that you will improve it further still.” Lady de Morange smiled, and Vasco got the sense that she shared some of Constantin’s enthusiasm; her own speech often tended to be quick, words spilling out over one another, as if she could not contain herself. “Tomorrow, I hope to begin introducing you to your advisors. Minister Vaillancourt is a tedious man, but he is also a great fount of information. He has charge of commercial affairs here, trading permits and the like…”

She had to stop to stifle a yawn, and Constantin laughed. “I will be most eager to meet everyone! Minister Vaillancourt can lecture me all he likes on trading permits and the intricacies of commerce; his lessons can hardly be more tedious than some Sir de Courcillon would have had me learn.”

Lady de Morange’s eyebrows rose at the casual insult, but de Courcillon’s expression did not change, and he only let out a weary sigh.

“My cousin exaggerates,” de Sardet said, intervening. “Sir de Courcillon tutored us both throughout our childhood, and it is thanks to him that we learned as much as we did of history, geography, statecraft, mathematics, literature, and the sciences, among other things.” She smiled at de Courcillon. “We may not have always been as attentive or as appreciative as we ought to have been, but if we found certain topics dull, it was not his fault.”

_She certainly has the makings of a good legate,_ Vasco thought, impressed. _That’s the speech of a diplomat if ever I’ve heard one._

“I certainly have not found you dull,” Constantin informed Lady de Morange. “Get a good night’s rest; tomorrow, we’ll begin!”

Lady de Morange curtseyed and left, suppressing another yawn; Sir de Courcillon was already bidding de Sardet good night. “I am so glad to be ashore,” he said. “I may have an assignment or two for you, but it will take me a few days to organize my work here.”

“Take your time,” de Sardet reassured him. “I will be glad to help you with whatever you need; you need only say the word. I am sure I will have work enough to occupy me in the coming days. I hope that you are feeling better, now that we’re ashore?”

As de Courcillon answered, Vasco was startled to feel a hand on his arm. He turned to see Constantin, leaning in conspiratorially. “I must confess, I will not be entirely sorry to have to part with you so soon, Captain. My fair cousin may not wish to remain within the palace this evening, but perhaps you would like to stay the night?”

Vasco was taken aback; he’d said his farewells to Constantin aboard the ship, such as they were. _I thought we’d left it there._ Constantin was a pleasant enough bedmate: he was experienced, adventurous, and eager to please, with boundless energy and stamina. _We certainly have little enough in common otherwise, but we both wanted a bed partner and had few enough other options – in my case, none at all._ Sir de Courcillon was out of the question, Captain Kurt had expressed a clear preference for women, and his opinions regarding Alexandra de Sardet were too wrapped up with his struggles surrounding his own heritage.

But Vasco hadn’t developed any feelings toward Constantin, and he’d believed that Constantin hadn’t toward him. _The way he spoke sometimes, it seemed I was a convenience – almost a prostitute he didn’t have to pay._ Given that he’d been using Constantin in precisely the same way, he hadn’t complained, but the idea of continuing the relationship ashore gave him pause.

“I had thought we’d agreed that was finished,” he said.

“Because you were remaining on your ship, and I was to be here,” said Constantin. “But if you are to be here—”

Vasco swallowed. “I hope that you will not take offense,” he began cautiously, speaking in a very low tone and hoping that de Sardet and de Courcillon would remain deep in their own conversation, “but while I have enjoyed our time together, I…”

Constantin burst out laughing; Vasco nearly flinched as de Sardet and de Courcillon both looked up at the sound, briefly distracted from their own conversation. “I know that conversation,” Constantin said. “Our arrangement would remain the same, Captain…and I am well aware that it is precisely that. An arrangement devised for our mutual satisfaction, nothing more.” He flashed a smile. “I know you will not be offended by my saying so, but I look upon what we have shared in the same way that you do: an evening’s pleasure, without the expectation of anything more.”

“I am glad,” said Vasco, but his mind was still working. _Do I want to continue this?_ He thought not. _I am in de Sardet’s employ._ She had not mentioned the relationship, but Kurt had pointed out that she must be aware of it; there was little Constantin did not share with his cousin. _He told her of my scars; he may well have shared where he first saw them._ While de Sardet did not seem to disapprove, Vasco thought that it might well prove awkward to retain a relationship with the closest relation of the woman who was now his commanding officer.

His thoughts also drifted to Admiral Cabral. _She scullied me because she knew that I was looking into my origins, and because I was unhappy not knowing the truth of who I was or what I’d lost._ That was true, but he shuddered to think of what she might think if she heard he was sleeping with the governor. _If I stay the night here, it’ll be back to the Port Quarter by sundown tomorrow. I don’t want her thinking that I’m bedding Constantin because of it, or that our relationship is more than what it is._ He trusted his crew enough to know that they’d keep quiet; he’d done his best to keep the arrangement from becoming common knowledge, though he didn’t doubt that some of the more perceptive members of the crew would have realized the truth. _Flavia, to be certain, and likely Hector as well…but they won’t say anything to the admiral._

He did not trust the servants of the governor’s palace in the same way. “However, I believe that what we shared at sea must remain there,” he told Constantin, whose face fell.

“Was I less than satisfactory? You never seemed to find me inadequate.”

“It isn’t that,” Vasco said, darting another glance toward de Sardet and de Courcillon; he was glad to see that they were still conversing together. _I wouldn’t want them to overhear this._ It wasn’t that he thought the pair would spread that information far and wide; de Sardet was innately tactful, and de Courcillon seemed courteous enough that he would do Vasco that favor if he asked. _Even so, it’s embarrassing._ “I have enjoyed the time we spent in each other’s company. Truly. If we were aboard ship, I would not hesitate to continue.”

“Then what is different?”

“We are ashore,” Vasco said, “and my admiral has implied that she has reason to question my loyalties. If she were to learn that I had taken up with the governor of the Congregation, however informally, I am certain she would not approve.”

“You could not tell her that you thought you had found a way to influence me?” Constantin’s eyes danced merrily. “You could tell her you whisper in my ear of a night.”

“She’d never believe it. I’m not the sort to…whisper,” Vasco said, and Constantin let out another laugh.

“That, I can believe. You’re too straightforward for politics, Captain.”

“I don’t like the tangled webs you nobles weave,” Vasco answered honestly. “All your plots and schemes.”

“Rest assured, I despise them as much as you do. I hope to leave them behind entirely here…though it seems that political concerns follow me wherever I go, and now deprive me of certain pleasures.”

“Pleasures?” De Courcillon and de Sardet had finished their conversation, and de Courcillon had picked up on the last words of the conversation.

“Such as the presence of my fair cousin,” said Constantin, with a sly grin at Vasco. “I find I am damsel in distress once again…a fair maiden consigned to my tower, far from those I would remain near.”

“I am sorry, but you heard what Lady de Morange said of my duties as legate, and the responsibilities—”

Constantin held up a hand. “It is fine! I understand. I will survive without you. It seems I must.” He turned back to Vasco. “Captain Vasco, I did not get the chance earlier today, but allow me to thank you for a most marvelous voyage. I enjoyed the pleasure of your company more than I can say. I am sorry that our time together must come to an end, but I am sure we will both find new adventures on this island that will prove even more rewarding.”

It was a farewell in more ways than one, Vasco knew, and he was glad that Constantin could be so gracious about it, and more subtle than he’d hoped. “Thank you,” he said, and as he saw de Sardet stifle a smile, knew that she knew the truth of the matter as well. “I’m glad you enjoyed the voyage.”

“And now it is over,” Constantin said, and Vasco worried that he would lay it on too thickly. “It has been a pleasure, Captain. I am sure we will see each other again, and often, if you are to remain in the presence of my fair cousin.”

“I am. Though I hope that it will not be long. No offense, Legate de Sardet.”

“None taken. I know you would prefer your ship.” A sad smile played on her lips. “I know the pain of being ordered from your home.”

“We will certainly find a new one here!” Constantin reassured her.

“I hope so,” she answered. “Good night, Constantin.”

“Good night!”

They returned to the legate’s lodgings, where the butler greeted them. “Your Excellency,” he said respectfully, bowing deeply, then bowed more shallowly to Vasco. “Captain.” Vasco noted that Kurt apparently did not merit a greeting at all.

Kurt did not seem to mind, but de Sardet frowned as the butler led them upstairs. “Your room, Your Excellency,” he told her. “Here is your key. Your guard’s will be across the hall. Marie informed me that you had requested he be placed in the guest quarters nearest your own.”

“I requested he be given guest chambers, not a room in the servants’ quarters,” she answered. “Captain Kurt is not my servant; he is the captain of my cousin’s guard.”

“I have clear standing orders for the protection of both Legate de Sardet and Governor d’Orsay. Governor d’Orsay himself ordered me to stay at her side,” Kurt supplied.

“Kurt has been with us both since I was ten and Constantin eleven,” de Sardet said, fixing the butler with a stern gaze. “I expect you to treat both Captain Kurt and Captain Vasco with the same respect you show me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.” But the set of the man’s lips told Vasco he didn’t like his orders, and his posture was stiff as he offered Kurt the key to his own room.

De Sardet opened the door to her room. “Good night, Kurt. Captain,” she added to Vasco. “I will see you both at breakfast tomorrow. I thought to explore the city.”

“I’ll have to stop by the barracks. I’m expected to report to the quartermaster,” said Kurt, “and I’ve no doubt the quartermaster will want a report on our cargo.”

“I’ll be happy to accompany you,” said de Sardet. “Good night!”

“Good night, Green Blood.” Kurt moved toward the room that Thomas had assigned, then nodded to Vasco. “Sailor.” He didn’t wait for an answer, leaving Vasco with the butler.

“Your room, sir,” said Thomas, leading him a few paces down the hall; Vasco’s room adjoined de Sardet’s. “Your trunk is within. If you require a servant to help you dress, please inform me, and I can arrange for a valet from the palace to attend you.”

Vasco eyed him. “I’m a Naut,” he said; the man’s tone was unfailingly courteous, but he thought he might have detected a hint of mockery. “I can dress myself.”

“You are a guest of Her Excellency, Captain,” the butler replied; neither his tone nor his expression changed. “As such, I would offer you the same courtesies extended to Her Excellency herself, as she has commanded.”

“Would you offer the same courtesies to Captain Kurt?”

Thomas’s expression didn’t change, but his tone managed to convey both mild shock and disapproval. “If the legate commands.”

“But not otherwise?”

“He is in the legate’s employ, not her guest.”

“As am I,” Vasco pointed out. “My admiral has commanded me to assist Legate de Sardet, and obey her as I would a superior officer. I would not consider us friends.”

The butler pursed his lips. “Good night, sir.”

_He resents us,_ Vasco thought, thinking of the way the man had eyed Kurt, then of the mockery as he’d spoken to Vasco. _He sees us as servants, or little better than._

 _If my parents had not given me to the sea, he would not speak to me that way._ Vasco knew he was from the Congregation, and he suspected that his parents had been rich; it was generally wealthy merchants and lords who gave their children to the sea, and his investigations had uncovered a very large gift made around the time of his donation. _If I were a lord, he would bow and scrape and treat me with all the respect he showed the legate – yet I am the same person, with the same parents, and the same blood. I am no less worthy of respect because I am a Naut._ Yet that was clearly not the case, and Vasco could not help but feel another prickle of resentment toward his people, for what had been taken from him.

_Though it isn’t as if I would be less worthy of respect if I’d discovered I was the child of commoners,_ he thought. _Kurt is not nobly born, but I would not think him less worthy of respect than de Sardet or her cousin._ Vasco wondered what the butler would think once he saw Kurt and de Sardet together. _Things may not be the same here as they were on the_ Sea Horse _,_ he reminded himself. _Life aboard ship is surely different from life here on shore, especially for nobility._

At the beginning of the voyage, he’d thought that de Sardet was the same as the other nobles he’d met; he’d thought that Kurt was a personal guard to both her and Constantin, nothing more. _Constantin made it very clear that Kurt was a guard in his service, not a friend._ He’d spoken of the man with a mixture of familiarity, fondness, and resentment: at best, he saw the guard as both loyal and dedicated to his work; at worst, it seemed he considered him a possible spy for his father. Most of the time, he seemed to like Kurt well enough, but distantly; he viewed him as an unwanted encumbrance, a hindrance to his independence. _If it were up to him, he’d have come to Teer Fradee with no one but his cousin._

 _Kurt himself would likely say he’s in her service as well as Constantin’s, but I doubt de Sardet sees it that way._ As the voyage had worn on, Vasco had noted that they spent a great deal of time together; at first, he’d chalked it up to Kurt wanting to guard his charge, but he’d soon noted that he didn’t spend nearly as much time in Constantin’s company. _When they first came aboard, I thought there was a distance between them, but that’s certainly been fading._ They’d been cordial enough to one another at supper, and Vasco recalled seeing them together on deck, but the first time he’d truly noticed was during the crossing celebration.

 _She was truly outraged by the idea that someone would take a whip to a recruit,_ Vasco thought. He’d been surprised that de Sardet had never noticed the scars. _He had his shirt off before, in the heat…but I do recall he’d put his shirt back on whenever de Sardet was above deck._ At the time, he’d attributed it to an overdeveloped sense of propriety, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if Kurt had known the sight would cause her distress, and wanted to avoid it. _They seem fonder of each other than you’d expect from a noble and her bodyguard._ During the wrestling matches, de Sardet had cheered for Kurt as loudly as she’d cheered for Constantin; afterwards, she’d sat between the two of them as they’d watched the remaining competitions, then participated in the tug-of-war.

 _And after that, they danced together._ Vasco remembered seeing de Sardet pull Kurt to his feet the night of the crossing celebration; Kurt had seemed hesitant at first, but had soon looked as if he was enjoying himself. _I’ve never seen that. A noblewoman and her guard, kicking up their heels to Naut music like they were born to it. And after, she ate turtle soup as eagerly as any Naut._ He’d fully expected that Kurt would eat without complaint – soldiers and sailors alike ate whatever fare they could get – but the sight of the noblewoman eating without reserve have given him pause. _Constantin didn’t surprise me; he considered it an adventure, and said as much. He might complain if forced to eat a Naut’s rations day after day, but for one night, he was delighted._ Vasco hadn’t expected that of Constantin’s cousin.

 _De Sardet is a surprise,_ he thought. _I will admit, I was wrong about her._ She’d proved herself willing to help Jonas; she’d consorted with his crew; she seemed to be fond of her bodyguard in a way that went beyond the ordinary relationship between a Coin Guard and the noblewoman he served.

Even so, he couldn’t help resenting her. _She’s a noble,_ he thought. _Everything in life has been handed to her._ Looking around his new room, he couldn’t help but contrast it with the cabin he’d left behind on the _Sea Horse_ : the captain’s cabin had been the most luxurious accommodation he’d ever had in his life, but his room in de Sardet’s home was several times the size and far more richly furnished. _When I took command of the Sea Horse, I was amazed by my cabin._ It had been the first time Vasco had ever slept in a private space of his own, without being surrounded by two dozen others; with a bunk, a desk, a washbasin, and a dining table, the space had felt impossibly luxurious.

This room was several times the size of his cabin; a fireplace was at one end, an enormous four-poster bed at the other. His trunk had been placed at the foot of the bed, and there was an enormous armoire against one wall, a desk, and a side table beneath the window. A plush woven carpet from the Bridge Alliance was spread on the floor, while a tapestry that looked to be from Theleme hung on one wall, a landscape on another. _This probably pales in comparison to whatever she had in Serene._

It was easier for him to resent de Sardet than her cousin. _They both had wealth and status, but Constantin never had a mother or father who loved him._ All three of his passengers had agreed on that, and deep down, Vasco’s greatest regret in becoming a Naut had nothing to do with gold or titles. _I wish I’d known what it was to have a family who loved me. Raised in a barracks with dozens of other children, brought up by instructors too old to go to sea…what I would have given to have had a mother or a father who loved me, who’d comfort me when I fell down, who’d give me a hug or a kiss on the forehead before I went to bed at night, who’d be kind to me when I couldn’t figure out how to tie a knot or use a sextant._

Constantin d’Orsay had never had that; Alexandra de Sardet had. _She left her mother behind, yes…but she knew what it was to have such a mother._ Vasco could only imagine what his parents might have been like.

 _They didn’t want you. If they had, they wouldn’t have given you up._ He sat down on the bed; the mattress was softer than any he’d ever known, stuffed filled with what felt like down feathers, and that only made him angrier. _I’m sure it’s more comfortable than anything I’ve slept on in my life. No straw to poke through the edges, no mildew. If your parents had wanted you, you might have slept on one of these all your life._ He thought of the little he knew of his parents. _They were from the Congregation, I think, and they were likely wealthy merchants or nobles…but I have spent so long trying to find anything I can about them, with so little result, I despair that I will ever have the answers I seek. Especially now._ He took off one of his boots, and felt a surge of anger; in frustration, he threw his boot against the opposite wall.

 _I always told myself I’d rise through the ranks, make fleet commander, and find out the truth._ But, grounded as he was, that seemed an utter impossibility.

 _Why would the admiral take my command from me? Why take my ship?_ He hurled his other boot against the wall. _I’ve captained the_ Sea Horse _for more than two years. I’ve made three full crossings without losing a man. I’d like to think I’ve been a damn good captain, and that my crew respects me. Why take it all away?_

Admiral Cabral hadn’t given him any answers. “Captain,” she’d greeted him, and asked him for details about the journey: if they’d taken any casualties, if they’d suffered any damage that needed repairing, if they’d lost any cargo taken on in Serene, how their noble passengers had fared.

“No casualties, damage, or loss of cargo,” he’d answered, “and our passengers seemed to have fared well enough. Governor d’Orsay, Legate de Sardet, Sir de Courcillon, and Captain Kurt all seemed well-pleased with the voyage…though I don’t think Sir de Courcillon ever found his sea legs.”

“But Governor d’Orsay? Legate de Sardet? Our most distinguished passengers are well?”

“Yes,” said Vasco.

“How did the new legate enjoy the voyage, do you think?”

That had surprised Vasco; he’d expected Admiral Cabral to inquire after Constantin, not his cousin. After all, Constantin was the only son and heir to the Prince d’Orsay; in comparison, his cousin was unimportant. “I think she enjoyed it well enough,” he said carefully, wondering if some dispatch had somehow beaten them to New Serene. “Though she had an eventful day before she boarded. Did you hear of that?”

“Tell me,” Cabral had replied, and Vasco had relayed both the news about Jonas’s abduction and the creature aboard the _Red Tide_. He omitted the tale of the Coin Guard’s merchandise, not wanting to reveal his own part in the smuggling, and knowing that he owed it to de Sardet to keep quiet.

As it was, Cabral listened intently to his tale of Jonas, then nodded her approval when he spoke of how de Sardet had persuaded Sir Fontaine to let his son go. “Did she seem sympathetic to Jonas?”

“She was fond enough of him, I think,” Vasco replied. “Jonas will praise her to the four winds, if you let him. But she seemed sad, after she did it…she spoke of leaving a broken and unhappy family, though she recognized that she had returned Jonas to his own true family. I believe that it was because she was upset at having to leave her own mother behind, and Jonas’s mother seemed very much attached to her son, despite having given him up.” _Would my own mother react the same way if I came upon her now?_

The thought intruded despite himself, and he had pushed it away as Cabral frowned. “The Princess de Sardet is dying, is she not?”

“Of the malichor.”

Cabral nodded, taking that information in, but Vasco knew that it must serve only as confirmation to what she already knew. “And what of this creature?”

“It was bound for the Bridge Alliance, but the _Red Tide_ had put in at Serene Harbor to make repairs before setting course for Al Saad. We were about to board the _Sea Horse_ when the creature got free; it toppled the Red Tide’s mainmast and destroyed half the starboard side of the ship. It would’ve killed Governor d’Orsay and devastated the docks if de Sardet hadn’t stopped it.”

“She is brave, then,” Cabral mused, “and skilled.”

“With magic, and with a blade,” Vasco had agreed.

“And with words, if she managed to talk Sir Fontaine into releasing your cabin boy, and in such a way to avoid damaging the Congregation’s opinion of us,” Cabral said.

“That isn’t all she managed,” Vasco said. He related the rest of it: how she’d dealt with the charlatan from the Bridge Alliance, the so-called heretics of Theleme, and her cousin’s kidnapping.

Cabral’s eyebrows rose. “It sounds as if she had a very busy day.”

“She is capable,” Vasco said.

“Yet it sounds as if you do not like her.”

Vasco had grown defensive. “It isn’t that.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You know I do not like nobles. Nobility makes me uncomfortable.”

“Especially the nobility of Serene?”

There had been something in Cabral’s tone that had made him uncomfortable. “They aren’t like us,” he said. “They act as if they’re better than we are.”

“Did Lady de Sardet behave that way? Or Sir d’Orsay?”

“Neither,” he admitted. “They’ve befriended the crew and been more comfortable among our people than any noble passengers I’ve ever seen.”

“Have they befriended you?”

“I’ve dined with them every evening,” he’d said, careful to keep from revealing anything; while it was frowned upon for a captain to have any sort of relationship with a member of his crew, he was equally certain that Cabral would have frowned upon his arrangement with the only son of the Prince d’Orsay. “I would not call us friends, but they are both friendly enough. Sir d’Orsay is very animated, and Lady de Sardet is a good woman.” 

“Then I hope you will not object to a longer acquaintance.” Cabral’s entire demeanor had shifted then: from the friendly figure who had been something of a mentor to Vasco to his commanding officer. “Captain, you are relieved of your command. The _Sea Horse_ will be placed under the command of Captain Ruben, and you will be placed under the command of Legate de Sardet, to serve as liaison between the Nauts and the Merchant Congregation.”

Vasco had been stunned; it had been as if his ship had just run aground. _Which, in a way, it has._ “But—why—what have I _done?_ ”

“For the moment, I cannot explain myself in full. Suffice it to say that I require someone to act as liaison to the new legate, and that I believe you are the best Naut for this mission. I hope it will benefit both you and de Sardet, and that you will both understand, given time.”

“Does she know about this? Did she ask for this?”

“No and no. Your appointment will be as great a surprise to her as it is to you.”

“Why me?”

“As I have said, Captain, my reasons are my own. Suffice it to say I have them.”

Vasco had argued then, sailing perilously close to insubordination. He’d taken lashes for his sharp tongue before, when he’d been only a common sailor with a glib tongue; now, he sailed close to the wind again, demanding to know why he was being stripped of command, if he would be stripped of his rank to go with it, if his next assignment would be that of a warehouse guard.

“Why send me? The _Sea Horse_ is my ship. My crew—”

“The _Sea Horse_ is Captain Ruben’s now, and your crew are now his concern.”

Those words had crashed over him like a cold wave. “Admiral, please,” he’d said. “The _Sea Horse_ is my home. The _sea_ is my home.”

The admiral had fixed him with an intent stare. “Is it?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

It was then that he’d known. _She knows._ Over the course of the last ten years, Vasco had tried to find out everything he could about his parents, but he’d also done his best to keep his search quiet. Among the Nauts, it was taboo to seek out that sort of information; he had paid a smuggler to find out what he could about his country of origin, slipped coin to men in taverns in the hopes that they could search out his parents’ names, the reason for his donation, or whether or not he had siblings, but all he had ever learned that he was from the Congregation, and likely noble.

 _It was a time when many families had to give a child to the Nauts…though I’ve only ever heard rumors about their reasons for doing so._ The alliance between the Congregation and the Nauts had been strained, and Vasco was not sure if the donations had been a way of mending it, or of forging stronger ties with new agreements. _It might not have had anything to do with it at all._

What mattered was that Cabral knew he’d been looking. _That is reason enough to question my loyalty. I couldn’t wait until I made fleet commander…I couldn’t wait at all._ Now, he felt the prospect of promotion slipping away from him, and wondered if he’d lost the admiral’s trust.

He had hung his head, knowing it was an argument he could not win. _You’re sea-born,_ he wanted to tell her. _You knew your family. You can’t know what it’s like to wonder about the truth._ But a true Naut was not supposed to ask those questions. _A true sea-given should be happy to know they’re a Naut._

“You’ll thank me for this in time, Captain,” Cabral had told him.

 _Captain? Of what? I have no ship and no crew._ He thought again of Captain Kurt. _Without crew to look after, without a ship to command, it’s an empty rank._ He unbuckled his coat, wondering how de Sardet would expect him to dress. _A fine doublet? I doubt it; I am no nobleman and she knows it. A guard’s doublet, some sort of armor? I am no Coin Guard either._

He pulled off his breeches, leaving only underbreeches and shirt; untucked, the shirt fell down to mid-thigh, and he pulled that off as well, staring down at his tattoos. _What am I, if not a Naut? Is that all that I am? How can I remain a Naut, so far from the sea?_ Admiral Cabral had refused to tell him how long his exile might last.

“You will serve until I tell you otherwise, Captain. This is not a demotion or a punishment, regardless of what you believe. I hope you will get to know the legate better.” Cabral had looked him in the eye then, her expression softening just a little. “I believe you have more in common than you know.” 

“You are under Legate de Sardet’s command now. Follow her orders as if she were a Naut, and your commander…but treat her as you would a fellow Naut, a member of the same crew.”

 _Why me? Why not send a diplomat? Why not offer yourself?_ Vasco threw himself back on the bed, spreading his arms out, staring up at the ceiling. _All things I could not say to the admiral, of course._

“I know you are unhappy, but I expect you to do your duty and obey your orders, however much you do not like them,” she had said. “Can I trust you do to that?”

“Yes, Admiral. Of course.”

“Of course,” she had echoed. “Because you are a Naut, and a good and loyal one at that. And finally: “I still have great hopes of you, Captain. I hope you will return to us having benefited from this experience.”

 _I will have to chart my own course, and navigate my own way through these rough waters._ He only hoped that he would find allies in his newfound companions.


	27. Coin Guard Crates

The following day, Kurt set out for the barracks; as she had promised, de Sardet accompanied him. Vasco followed them as well; the Naut captain seemed unsure of himself, but de Sardet was as friendly and welcoming as ever, and Kurt noticed that Vasco seemed to be making more of an effort to be pleasant.

Kurt was pleasantly surprised to find a familiar face waiting for them at the barracks: Manfred, an officer of the Coin Guard who Kurt had known for nearly twenty years, going back to their time together in the Red Sun Regiment. _We served together under Sieglinde, and when she was promoted into the Blue-Silver, she asked both of us to come with her._

When Sieglinde had been promoted again and been reassigned to Teer Fradee five years ago, she had taken Manfred with her. _She told me she would have made the offer to me, but she knew I wouldn’t leave my charges._ She’d been right: while Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet had been adults, Kurt had been loath to leave them behind. _Especially Green Blood,_ he admitted to himself. _His Highness likes to pretend he can fend for himself, but I knew she needed someone to look out for her._

Manfred grinned when he caught sight of Kurt. “Well, I’ll be damned! It’s Captain Kurt!” He didn’t look entirely astonished, and Kurt wondered whether he’d heard the news from Sieglinde, who Kurt had first written when he’d learned he would be accompanying Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet to Teer Fradee, or if he’d received the news in the course of his duties, while updating the duty rosters for the Blue-Silver Regiment. 

_Either way, I’m glad to see him._ Kurt was glad to see him alive and well: Manfred had always been a good friend, and he responded with equal cheer. “Manfred! Still a quartermaster?”

“Always, as you can see! What can I do for you?”

“We’ve come to find you regarding the merchandise Kurt was taking care of,” said de Sardet.

“Ah, the commander’s cargo, yes. I was told that had come in.” Manfred raised his eyebrows. “And so he’s got you working on this? Lucky Kurt. It helps to have friends in high places.” He explained that the merchandise had been unloaded into the warehouses on the docks, but that the warehouses were well-guarded, and their doctored manifests would not pass the watchful eye of the Port Authority. To get them, Kurt would have to figure out which warehouse the cargo had been offloaded into, find a discreet way to enter, and then mark the crates with colored chalk so the recruits, who were generally illiterate, would be able to know which ones to take.

De Sardet listened patiently, then nodded. “Let’s see what we’re able to do,” she said, and Kurt knew then that she would help him, as she had before.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Green Blood? If you’re caught, it’ll mean trouble. I’m sure the Nauts won’t be happy with the new legate breaking into one of their warehouses.”

She gave him a slightly mischievous smile in return. “Then we’ll have to make sure not to get caught.”

“My ship’s being moved to use your contraband, and now you want to sneak into one of our warehouses?” Vasco asked, frowning his disapproval.

De Sardet’s response was immediate. “Kurt was given the order. If we want to help him, we don’t have a choice.”

Vasco sighed. “I don’t like this…but, since I’ve been sacked, let’s just say this will be a little bit of revenge.” Kurt was surprised: he’d expected the sailor to protest more.

“How are we to know in which warehouse we’ll find this damn cargo?”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to take a look at all of them,” said de Sardet.

“That won’t be necessary. My entire cargo has been placed in the warehouse closest to my ship. And, if you wouldn’t mind wearing some Naut clothing, we’ll be less suspicious. I would like to avoid fighting with my own; the Nauts are my family.”

“I think that can be arranged,” de Sardet said with a smile. She looked to Kurt. “Do you still have your disguise from Serene?”

“I didn’t throw it overboard,” Kurt replied, amused. Vasco eyed them both, and de Sardet was forced to explain that they had dressed as Nauts in order to get the merchandise into the warehouse in Serene in the first place.

“Constantin told me of your adventure,” Vasco said. “I wasn’t sure if I ought to believe him. Dressing as Nauts, marking your faces as sea-given, and telling the warehouse guards that the harbor bell was ringing to send them running to the Port Authority…”

“It’s true, all of it,” said Kurt.

“The harbor guards are never the brightest Nauts in the fleet…but I am surprised that the tale is true,” Vasco admitted. “I find it hard to imagine the three of you as Nauts.” He eyed Kurt. “How did you find a uniform that would fit?”

“I didn’t,” Kurt said. “Not one that fits well, anyway…though I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.” 

They returned to the legate’s house, where de Sardet and Kurt both changed.

“I used some ink to draw on tattoos,” de Sardet explained to Vasco as she came downstairs. “Perhaps you could help? I’m afraid that my own efforts would never withstand close scrutiny.”

“No ink would,” Vasco replied. “Our tattoos have a certain look to them. But I can help with the designs.” He tilted his head, looking at Kurt. “Though you’ll have to shave if you want it to look halfway right. I’m surprised it passed muster the first time.”

Kurt frowned. “I thought Green Blood did a good enough job of it the first time.”

“If anyone gets a good look at you, it would be over,” Vasco replied. "You'll have to be careful. I don't want this to come to fighting." He drew them on, then stepped back, scrutinizing them both. “It won’t pass a close look, you’re right, but it’ll be good enough…though I’m not sure if it would be better to go now, or wait until nightfall. Now, there will be more reason for a number of Nauts to be wandering around the warehouses, so we may blend in – but, with more people around, there’s a greater chance of being spotted or stopped.”

“If you are with us, I think that we should be fine,” said de Sardet. “We’ll go when you think best, Captain.”

Vasco nodded, but he seemed distracted, and Kurt saw that he was still staring at de Sardet. After a moment, de Sardet noticed as well. “Is something wrong with my disguise?”

“No,” Vasco said, shaking himself out of it. “You look very much like a Naut.” He quickly shifted his gaze to Kurt. “You, on the other hand…”

“You don’t see many sailors my size,” Kurt agreed.

“Why is that, I wonder?” de Sardet asked. “I know you would not be very comfortable aboard ship, but when the Nauts take infants and children, they cannot know how tall they will be.”

“It’s a good question,” said Vasco. “I do think that larger men tend toward shore postings more often than not. Life below deck for an ordinary seaman isn’t comfortable to begin with, but it would be worse for someone who wouldn’t fit into their bunk.”

“How does Ricardo manage?” asked Kurt, thinking of the burly Naut he’d defeated in the wrestling match. The man had been every inch of six feet, and heavier than Kurt, if only because he’d carried a great deal of extra weight around the middle.

“Not very comfortably,” Vasco answered. “He had Bruno build him an extra-wide bunk, and he traded with Emilio for a bottom bunk, but he still complains endlessly.”

“Was your bed aboard ship so small?” de Sardet asked Kurt.

“No,” he replied, slightly surprised to realize it; the other times he’d sailed aboard a Naut vessel, generally troop transports commissioned by the Coin Guard for that purpose, he’d always found himself crammed into a bunk that was a few inches too short, or taking a hammock that was ill-suited for a man of his height and weight.

“We give our passengers better accommodations than our crew,” Vasco supplied. “The cabins on the _Sea Horse_ were designed for nobles, who are often more particular about their beds than Nauts who’ve known nothing but a bunk or hammock.”

“Well, I thought that cabin fit for a noble,” Kurt acknowledged. “For being on a boat, there was nothing bad about it.”

“Ship,” said Vasco, with a hint of irritation, but when he saw that it drew an amused look and the tiniest smile from de Sardet, he shook his head and let it go.

They headed to the docks. There were a number of Nauts about, but with Vasco at their side, most of them didn’t give their party a second glance. Those few who did only nodded or tipped their hat at Vasco; they seemed to assume that de Sardet and Kurt were members of his crew.

“I’m surprised,” said Vasco. “The gossip must not have made its way around the docks yet. I wonder if Admiral Cabral has told my crew.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “She must not have…or if she did, she told them to keep quiet. I can’t see Lauro keeping his mouth shut.” He sighed. “I still wish I’d had the chance to say goodbye. She wouldn’t even let me go back to my cabin.”

“Goodbye?” De Sardet looked alarmed. “But this isn’t forever. Even if you aren’t reassigned to the _Sea Horse_ , you’ll see them again, won’t you?” 

“Only the tides are certain,” Vasco replied, in such a way that Kurt thought it was likely an old Naut saying. “I’ve no idea how long I’ll be ashore. The admiral made it clear that I’m at your service for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m grateful,” said de Sardet as they pushed open the door to the proper warehouse. “I cannot imagine doing this without you.”

“I feel the same,” Kurt said. “I don’t know what I’d have done without your help, Green Blood…or yours, sailor,” he acknowledged. “This whole mission isn’t to my liking. Playing the errand-boy, smuggling contraband…”

“At least it’s nearly over with,” de Sardet suggested. “Look – here are the crates we’re looking for.” She paused. “It appears one of them has been broken…” She drew back, frowning. “It’s full of weapons!”

Kurt came to her side, peering into the container. “That doesn’t seem right. It is our clients that supply us with weapons on Teer Fradee.”

“You didn’t know what was in the crates?”

“No. I don’t concern myself with the commander’s business.” But seeing the weapons bothered him. _What would Torsten want with more weapons? And why would he be so keen to get them on the island without anyone finding out?_ The secrecy that had shrouded the mission, and Commander Wilfred’s insistence on silence in Serene, excited his suspicions. _And here I thought the commander wanted some liquor he didn’t want to pay tax on, or some personal item he didn’t have a customs stamp for._ “I should take a look into this. I have some friends here that must know what this is all about.”

“Let me know what you discover,” de Sardet answered. “Now, let’s mark these crates and get going.”

They did, slipping back out of the warehouses and into the city without difficulty. “Shall we report back to Manfred?” de Sardet asked.

“Not like this,” Kurt said. “He wouldn’t tell on us, but I don’t think you want to advertise to the city that you’ve been playing at being a Naut…especially if you intend to use that disguise in the future.”

“When do you think we’d have another reason to dress as Nauts?”

“You never know,” Kurt said. “Think of those scholars we helped.”

Vasco blinked, looking up suddenly, and again Kurt thought that he must have had another thought he chose not to share. “What is it?” de Sardet asked. “Do you disapprove? I promise, we will not come here again unless it is entirely necessary.”

“It’s fine,” Vasco replied, still distracted. “I was only thinking…never mind.”

Kurt exchanged glances with de Sardet, but she chose not to press the subject. They returned to the legate’s residence, where Thomas the butler eyed them strangely, but said nothing as they cleaned off their faces, changed into their usual clothing, and returned to Manfred, where de Sardet informed him that they had successfully found the crates and marked them.

“One of the crates was damaged. I was quite surprised by what I found in it.”

“Really? To be honest with you, the commander never told me what was in them. I received the order to deliver them as soon as Kurt accomplished his mission, without further instructions. For what it’s worth, I thank you for your help.” Manfred paused. “What was the cargo?”

De Sardet hesitated, glancing at Kurt, but he trusted Manfred enough to respond without hesitation. “Arms. The crates were full of arms. Mostly rifles, from the look of it, and all of it of Bridge make. Why would Torsten be smuggling Bridger guns to New Serene?”

“I don’t know,” said Manfred, frowning. “I’ll admit, I don’t get involved in the commander’s business. He’s not the sort of man you’d want to cross.”

“Does he have a temper?” de Sardet asked.

“You could say that,” said Manfred, looking uneasy. “Though I don’t want to say too much. Can’t go around speaking ill of the commander, especially not while I’m on duty, you know?”

Kurt did. _Manfred's_ _no coward, and no complainer either, but he’s never been the sort to speak his mind, even if there’s a good reason for it. He’s happiest as quartermaster, with his ledgers and supply crates. Neither of us ever had any time for politicking; we wanted to keep our heads down and do our duty._ “It’s not unheard of for a commander to keep his own counsel,” he told de Sardet. “A man can’t go around asking what his superiors are up to.”

“Exactly,” said Manfred. “I’m assuming if the commander wants weapons, it’s for a good reason.”

“But you have no idea what he intends,” said de Sardet, frowning.

“We’re soldiers, Your Excellency. We’re always in need of weapons,” said Manfred. “It might be that he got into a dispute with one country or another over the quality of the weapons they were providing, and decided that it would be easier to obtain them himself. Not that I’ve heard of any problems with Governor de Morange, or expect any from Governor d’Orsay,” he added hastily, “but it’s possible that he’s had issues with Governor Burhan or the Mother Cardinal.”

“Thank you,” de Sardet told Manfred, and they left.

Once they were back in the sunlight, Vasco spoke. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Smuggling goods aboard my ship is one thing, but weapons…”

“Manfred does have a point,” said de Sardet. “The Coin Guard is a mercenary company; we should have expected the shipment to involve arms or armor.”

“Except I didn’t expect it, Green Blood,” Kurt said. “The Guard doesn’t usually supply our own armaments.” He looked to Vasco. “If it was my ship, I’d have wanted to know. It doesn’t look like he shipped powder or bullets with the guns, but if he had, that’s the sort of thing a ship’s captain should’ve been told.”

“Precisely,” said Vasco, still irritated. “How is it that your quartermaster didn’t know what the commander was shipping? How can he not know where they’ll be used? I don’t like the idea that my ship was used to transport weapons when we don’t know who they’ll be used against.”

“If they’re going to the Bridge, they’ll be used for their war against the natives,” said Kurt. “Otherwise, I’d expect them to be used while on patrol.”

“Unless either the Bridge Alliance or Theleme is planning on heating up their little war,” said Vasco. “What if we’ve just transported weapons that will be used by one side against the other?”

“I doubt that,” said de Sardet. “That would mean Coin Guard fighting against Coin Guard. Would Commander Torsten really agree to smuggle weapons to allow his men to kill one another?”

“It happens,” Kurt said reluctantly. “I hate it, but the official policy is that Coin Guard will agree to fight Coin Guard if the contract offers a big enough premium. It’s not right, and any man in the Guard I’ve talked to hates it as much as I do, but if the commanders make enough gold from it, it’s been known to happen. So far, only on the continent, and only in the war between the Bridge and Theleme, but it’s not impossible.” He grimaced. “I wish it were!”

De Sardet looked appalled. “That’s awful,” she agreed.

“The premium is supposed to make its way into the pockets of the men who are doing the fighting, but that never happens the way it should,” said Kurt.

“If anyone discovers that those weapons were aboard my ship, I’ll be scullied permanently,” said Vasco. “Even if they don’t realize that I helped you get them aboard, even failing to realize that they were brought aboard would reflect poorly on me. I can’t believe I agreed to help you!”

“Vasco, I’m truly sorry,” said de Sardet. “None of us knew what was in those crates.”

“And you were content not to know,” Vasco said, turning on Kurt. “Acting like a good soldier, was that it? Put your head down, close your eyes, and look the other way?”

“It’s what we’re trained to do,” Kurt said, but he wasn’t happy with himself for it. “I wish I’d looked. I wouldn’t have involved the two of you in it if I’d known that’s what he was smuggling.” It was training that had been inculcated in him from the time he’d entered the ghost camp: a good soldier obeyed without questioning orders, without a desire to learn more, doing precisely what he was told regardless of any objections he might have had. _The less you know, the less trouble you’ll have. That’s what they told us._ The desire to ask questions had been beaten out of the recruits in the ghost camp, and Kurt’s training had left its mark: he’d always been a good soldier, obeying without question. _Sieglinde tried to cure me of some of that,_ he thought. She’d known of the ghost camp, and disapproved of both its methods and its lessons, but those years of training had been hard to ignore.

 _I can’t put my head down now,_ he thought. _Not if it means endangering Green Blood. I don’t want to get the sailor in trouble either, but I hate having involved her in this without knowing what we were getting into._

“I won’t let this be the end of it, I promise you,” he told them. “Manfred might not be able to help, but he’s not the only friend I have here. Sieglinde will want to hear about this, and she’ll be willing to help me.”

“Sieglinde?”

“Major Sieglinde. She was the commander of my squadron in the Red Sun Regiment, and when they promoted her and gave her a position in the Blue-Silver, she brought me with her. Manfred, too. She’s the one who recommended me for the master-at-arms post at the palace. When she was given a regimental command and sent to Teer Fradee, she brought Manfred with her, but I wouldn’t come.”

“Why not?” Vasco asked.

“I had a pair of nobles who still needed the training,” said Kurt. “I couldn’t come to Teer Fradee with the job half-done.”

“I didn’t know she had offered,” de Sardet said, startled. “I don’t believe I’ve heard you mention her before. Or Captain Manfred, for that matter.”

“Manfred and I go way back – all the way to the Red Sun. We both served under Sieglinde there. Manfred’s from Theleme, originally; he was a fresh recruit when we first met.”

“What of you?” Vasco asked. “Were you from Theleme?”

“The Congregation,” said Kurt. “At least, I was Congregation-born, though I went wherever the army did until I was old enough to be shipped off to training. After that, well…” He honestly didn’t know where the ghost camp had been located; it had been a secret location on the continent, and the recruits had been blindfolded on their way in. _We treated it like some great adventure. If only we’d known…_

He shook himself out of it as Vasco said, “We have that in common, then. I know that I am originally from the Congregation, even if I know nothing else about my past.”

The conversation moved on, but Kurt couldn’t help but feel troubled: he suspected that it wouldn’t be the last he heard of those weapons.


	28. Merchant Extortion

While he heard nothing more of the weapons shipment in the days that followed, it wasn’t the last time that Coin Guard business troubled him: it wasn’t long before Manfred stopped him on another visit to the barracks, asking him to bring the legate with him the next time he visited.

“Is it something I could handle on my own? I don’t want to get her involved if there’s trouble.”

“No. We need the legate,” said Manfred. “It’s to do with the merchants here in town. They won’t talk to a member of the Guard, not alone. They won’t trust you.”

“Since when are the Coin Guard not trustworthy?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Manfred replied. “The Guard isn’t what it was, Kurt. I know you’ve been locked away in that palace in Serene, but things are different here. Bring the legate, and I’ll explain.”

“I don’t want to put her in a position that risks her honor,” said Kurt. “The commander’s business with the crates was bad enough.”

“This isn’t anything like that,” said Manfred. “If anything, she’ll be helping you restore honor to the Guard.”

“I hate to ask this of you, Green Blood, but Manfred says he needs your help,” Kurt told de Sardet that night. He explained what Manfred had told him, and almost felt guilty at how readily she agreed to help.

“If you have another moment, Your Excellency, I would like to ask you for your help,” Manfred told her when Kurt brought her to the barracks. “We have a serious problem that I did not hear of until recently…a problem that concerns you closely.”

“I’m listening,” said de Sardet.

As Manfred explained, Kurt listened with increasing dismay: he explained to them that he had discovered a group of Coin Guard extorting local merchants for protection.

“Are you telling me the Guard is extorting merchants in our city?” de Sardet demanded, sounding as dismayed as Kurt felt.

He felt worse when Manfred revealed that several merchants had been assaulted, and one found dead.

“Murdered for protection money?” he said. “The Guard is supposed to protect men against bandits and highwaymen. These men are acting like a gang of criminals.”

“I hope you don’t intend to conceal this information,” said de Sardet, looking to Manfred. “If my cousin learns of this…”

“Oh no, certainly not, Your Excellency. We intend to punish the guilty party with the greatest severity. But the merchants refuse to give us the slightest testimony. The Guard frightens them, and rightfully so! We won’t be able to put a stop to these crimes without outside help.”

“And the legate is the perfect person to do it, is she not?” Vasco asked.

“I’d hoped so,” Manfred admitted. “Kurt can act as a representative of the Guard, to show them we’re not all bad, but we’ll need someone else to convince them to talk. Who better for that than a legate?”

“Count on me, I’ll take care of it,” de Sardet promised.

“Why hasn’t Sieglinde done anything?” Kurt demanded. “She’s the major for New Serene; I can’t see her standing for this.”

“She’s done everything she can, trust me,” said Manfred. “When she found out, she was as angry as you. She questioned the merchants herself, personally. I don’t think that did much good. Like I said, without their cooperation, there’s nothing we can do. They won’t name names; they’ve been terrified into silence.”

“We’ll convince them to speak,” said de Sardet. “They may feel that the Coin Guard will not do anything against one of their own, but I may be able to convince them to speak with a legate of the Congregation.”

“That’s what I hope,” said Manfred. “If there’s anything you can do, Your Excellency, the Coin Guard will be in your debt.”

“I can’t believe this,” Kurt said as they left. “Smuggling weapons is one thing…at least that’s the commander’s business, and he may have a good reason for it. This…in Serene, Commander Wilfred would’ve had those men strung up as soon as he learned of it.” He gritted his teeth. “The men involved should be publicly executed. They’re making a mockery of everything the Guard stands for.”

“Nauts who turn smuggler are put into the brig,” said Vasco. “Nauts who turn pirate…well, it’s said to be unheard of, but every cabin boy hears the legends. If there’s any scrap of truth to those legends, and there really are Nauts who’ve turned pirate, they’re pursued and executed without mercy.”

“Coin Guard shouldn’t be brigands,” said Kurt. “Honor, integrity, justice: those are supposed to mean something to the Guard. We swear an oath to protect those we serve.”

“Which you take seriously,” said Vasco.

“Of course. Without those values, there’s little enough to separate us from brigands. I hate the thought that there are men here who think so little of their oaths, and that no one else thought to stop them until after someone had died.”

“We’ll stop them,” said de Sardet. “I’ll do everything I can, Kurt, I promise.”

“It shouldn’t be your problem. I hate feeling as if I’m putting everything on you.”

“This is precisely the sort of issue a legate should handle,” she replied.

They went from merchant to merchant, and it quickly became clear that they were all terrified: the blacksmith and the wine-seller both paled and began shaking with terror when the topic was raised, and the wine-seller nearly slopped his own wares over himself when he offered de Sardet a sample of his finest vintage.

“No offense, but you won’t be able to do anything…and snitching don’t end well,” the blacksmith told her. “I want to hold onto my business, and my life! It’s been months since this happened.” The wine-seller was equally terrified, denying outright that he’d heard of the dead merchant, and maintaining his story even when de Sardet promised him protection.

The general merchant was the most willing to speak, though clearly also terrified. “I’ve only been here a few months,” he explained. “My partner who ran the shop before me had a…very bad encounter.”

“And you fear the same happening to you?”

“This is what happens around here. So I prefer to hold my tongue and do what is expected of me.”

That brought Kurt up short. _Keep your head down, bite your tongue, and obey._ It was what the Guard had instilled in him in those long years in the ghost camp. _If you don’t, you’re killed._ It gave him a bad feeling, as if the men responsible for the ghost camp were also responsible for the extortion. _It can’t be. That was a long time ago, and half a world away._ But he didn’t like it. _Things have to change. If this is what the Guard has become on Teer Fradee, things have to be set right._ He couldn’t believe that Commander Torsten was aware of the extortion. _Or Sieglinde, for that matter. How could things have gotten this bad? How did Sieglinde fail to notice? This can’t be the work of a single man; there has to be a whole gang involved._

“If you denounce them, we could end this, and charge these men with their crime,” de Sardet said.

“I can’t take that risk! There are so many of them!”

“Then what if we could stop them?” De Sardet outlined a plan: the merchant would refuse their threats, but when the corrupt guards came to punish him, they would be lying in wait.

The merchant was not convinced. “And if your plan fails, I’ll end up like Renaud!”

“Are you not tired of giving them a share of your profits? And do you not want to avenge your partner?”

The merchant sighed. “Poor Renaud,” he conceded. “He didn’t deserve it. Perhaps you’re right, and we need to act. I will do what you ask of me…but for God’s sake, when they threaten me, intervene right away!”

“Fear not. We will not let them harm you,” de Sardet promised. “When should they be returning?”

“It’s hard to predict. Given their habits…two days, maybe?”

“Perfect,” said de Sardet. “I will not fail you.”

“I hope not,” the man said. “Now, is there anything I can get for you, Your Excellency?”

De Sardet spent some time perusing his wares, and purchased a pair of necklaces from him; Kurt was surprised when she presented one to both him and Vasco. “They’re enchanted,” she explained. “Imbued with a protective spell. They’ll help you heal faster.”

“And what of you, Green Blood? I don’t know that I like this plan. We don’t know how many of them there will be. You’re putting yourself at risk.” Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “I’d feel better if we had reinforcements, but I don’t know who we can trust at the barracks. We don’t know which of the men are involved in this ring, and I don’t want to risk being shot in the back.”

“The three of us should be more than enough to take care of a few guards,” said de Sardet. “I’m hoping they won’t choose to fight in any case.”

“They’ll know the punishment for brigands,” said Kurt. “Not to mention the punishment for men who’ve broken their oath of service so badly.” He frowned. “If Sieglinde was here, I’d ask for her help, but Manfred says she’s been out of the city lately.”

“Out of the city? If she’s the major for New Serene, what’s she doing away from it?” Vasco asked.

“She oversees all three of the regiments assigned to the Congregation here,” said Kurt. “That means the sixth and the eleventh, as well as the eighth – the regiments assigned to exploring the island and maintaining the roads, as well as the one assigned to palace and city guard duty. Manfred says that the commander’s been keeping her busy, insisting that she conduct drills with those regiments in the field. She hasn’t been in New Serene since our arrival; otherwise, I’d have introduced you.”

“Is there anyone else in that barracks that you trust?” asked Vasco. “That quartermaster, for instance?”

“I’d trust Manfred with my life,” Kurt answered. “But I don’t know anyone else here. I could ask him to come with us, but it might be better to ask him to have a group of men waiting as reinforcements.”

“We could ask Constantin,” de Sardet ventured. “He would see this as an adventure.”

“I’d rather not,” Kurt said. “It’s bad enough that you’ll be in danger; I don’t want to risk our little governor’s life as well.”

“And Constantin would be furious,” said Vasco. “If he hears of this, he’ll insist on coming. He’s not going to like the idea of anyone interfering with the merchants in his city.”

“He might well use it as an excuse to reduce the size of his guard,” said Kurt. “He’s never liked having guards following him about.”

“He will be upset,” de Sardet acknowledged. “You’re right, Kurt; I don’t want him to risk himself.”

“I don’t like the idea of you risking yourself either, Green Blood,” Kurt said. “I wish you’d said something about this plan before you proposed it to the merchant.”

“What else could we have done? We need to draw out these corrupt guards, and I could not think of another way.”

“It’s a good plan,” said Vasco. “We’ll have to make sure we’re ready for them, that’s all.”

Kurt drilled the pair for the next two days. _The sailor’s a good shot,_ he admitted, _and not half-bad with that rapier._ De Sardet was, of course, skilled with magic, and he had her work with a spiked hammer she’d picked up from the merchant.

“I still wish there was another way,” he said. _If she gets hurt because I dragged her into this, I’ll never forgive myself._

“I hope it will be a tale to tell Constantin,” de Sardet answered. She’d turned down his request to join him at dinner that night, citing her duties as legate; instead, she’d promised to dine with him the evening after the day they were set to spring their trap. “I fear his feelings will be hurt by my absence. We’ve scarcely ever been apart so often.”

“It hasn’t been two days since you last saw him,” Vasco said. “Were you truly that close?”

“We grew up together,” de Sardet answered. “Every day, we practiced with Kurt, or with a dancing-master, or had lessons with Sir de Courcillon. Even as we grew older, there was scarcely a day when we didn’t see each other. Our rooms were not far from each other’s in the palace.”

_And now they have separate houses,_ Kurt thought. He enjoyed the privacy of the legate’s residence, and thought that de Sardet did as well, but he wondered how Constantin was enduring the solitude of the governor’s palace. _He will not like feeling so lonely._

“I’m sure His Highness has plenty of duties to keep him busy,” Kurt reassured her. “He has his own duties to settle into…and when he’s not attending to those, he’ll have a palace to redecorate, and two dozen trunks to unpack. Though I doubt he’s attending to the unpacking personally.”

The day of reckoning arrived, and as the night drew near, Kurt insisted on seeing de Sardet dressed in a quilted practice doublet he’d found in the barracks, its armor stronger than anything she’d brought with her.

“Is this why you made me practice in this?” she asked.

“Yes; I’d hoped you’d break it in, and get used to fighting in it. It’s no good going into battle with armor you’ve never worn before.”

“Don’t you think it would be better if I wore my legate’s doublet?” De Sardet had a beautiful deep blue embroidered doublet, the sort worn by the highest nobles, made for wearing on formal occasions.

“Absolutely not,” Kurt answered. “It’s not without protection, but it’s not armor, either. We’re likely to see fighting tonight, and I want you kept safe.” He also insisted that she wear a helm, a bascinet he’d found in the barracks, and was not surprised when she insisted that both he and Vasco wear one as well.

“I am a Naut, de Sardet, and Nauts do not wear helmets,” Vasco told her. “I’m not used to fighting in one. It would only restrict my view.”

“Let’s hope that no one aims a rifle at your head, sailor,” said Kurt. “That tricorne won’t help.”

But Vasco refused the helmet, and they went off to the merchant well-armed: Vasco with both pistol and rapier, Kurt with his _zweihander_ , and de Sardet with both a spiked hammer and her magic, along with a small assortment of magical traps that she’d crafted.

Kurt couldn’t help but feel bitterly disappointed as they hid themselves away, watching the men approach. _They’re not wearing their uniforms,_ he thought; the guards were dressed as bandits, clad in leather coats. _They look like a gang of bandits._

The merchant prevaricated and stammered his way through the admission that he did not have their money; in return, the corrupt guards threatened him. “You know what happens to those who refuse to pay!”

De Sardet stepped forward before things could go any further. “Leave this man alone at once! You are under arrest!”

“We’ll see about that! And who will stop us? We are the Guard!”

Kurt couldn’t contain his disgust. “You certainly don’t deserve such a name. Bunch of cowards!”

“Yield without a fuss, and you’ll have the right to a trial,” said de Sardet; Kurt knew she was still hoping that the matter would be resolved without violence, but he knew better.

The lead guard’s response confirmed it. “Really? And then it’ll be the gallows! Do you think we’re pushovers?”

Kurt saw his hand go for his weapon, and unsheathed his own sword before the other man could draw. After that, the fight exploded around him: they were indeed outnumbered, but Kurt managed to cut down the first guard, then advanced on a second, while Vasco unloaded his pistol into an attacker who was going for de Sardet.

De Sardet herself held her own: she flung burst after burst of magic at a pair of guards, alternating her focus; as one fell to the ground, she resumed her attack on the other.

A few moments later, their attackers lay dead at their feet, and the merchant was praising them to the skies. “I’m eternally grateful, Your Excellency! You saved my trade, and my life!”

De Sardet was breathing hard, staring down at the bodies. “You didn’t have a choice, Green Blood,” Kurt said. “I could have told you those men wouldn’t surrender.”

“I’d hoped they would submit to arrest,” she admitted.

“I’m just glad none of us were hurt. You’re all right, sailor, aren’t you?”

“Fine,” said Vasco, nodding.

“I heard about this man with the silver coin…but this is the first time they told me his name!”

“If they let him escape, it was only because they were thinking of killing you.”

“I beg you, find this Egon and stop him! None of us will be safe as long as he is free!”

“Don’t worry,” said de Sardet. “I don’t intend to let him go.” She stooped. “We’ll need to search the bodies. There may be something here to help us.”

They found the marked silver coins that the men had referenced, and a letter, supposedly from Egon, stating that he would be waiting near the barracks. “Come,” said de Sardet. “We can find him, I’m sure.”

They found a lieutenant near the barracks, speaking with a group of recruits. Anger rose in Kurt’s chest as he listened to them speaking of threatening the merchants. _These men call themselves Coin Guard,_ he thought; part of him wanted to step forward and challenge them all, but a look from de Sardet kept him from moving. _She’s right. We need to find out as much as we can._

He heard the lieutenant ask about the other guards; the recruit replied that he hadn’t seen them, and that they must have stopped off at the local tavern to celebrate.

“I hope those idiots aren’t drinking my due,” the lieutenant sniped.

“No one would dare do that to you, lieutenant!”

“I hope not, or I’ll have to remind them that the silver coin can shake everyone, even the guards…” He excused himself, citing urgent business, and left Kurt, de Sardet, and Vasco to follow.

They did, though Kurt hated having to be so stealthy; it reminded him of the lessons he’d learned in the ghost camp. _I don’t like feeling like an assassin. That isn’t what the Guard should be about._

At last, de Sardet confronted him – but the lieutenant denied being Egon, or indeed knowing anything about him. When she attempted to put him under arrest, he reacted the same way his guards had: by attacking, and ordering his guards to do the same.

The lieutenant was far more skilled than his men had been, skilled enough for Kurt to worry about de Sardet’s safety in a fight. “I’ll take him, Green Blood,” he called out as he drove the man back. “You and the sailor handle the recruits.” 

Thankfully, she listened, and Kurt advanced. A short and bloody battle later, he was standing over the lieutenant, who was now cradling a broken arm. “Now will you come with us?” de Sardet demanded.

“So you can torture me? You can do whatever you want, I will not tell you anything! I don’t know who Egon is, I’m just a middleman!”

“You must know more than you’re willing to say,” de Sardet said, frustrated. “Come on!”

“I’d rather die!”

The lieutenant went for his weapon; even as Kurt began to draw his, a shot rang out. The lieutenant fell, blood gushing from a hole in his neck. Turning, he saw Vasco holstering his pistol.

“Now that’s going to do us a lot of good,” he groused. “How are we going to question him?”

“Would you have preferred I let him stab you?”

“I could have taken him down.”

“He wasn’t going to talk anyway. He was too afraid,” said Vasco.

“If we’d been able to question him—”

“There’s no point in quarrelling now,” de Sardet intervened. “I’m grateful you’re not hurt. I saw how talented a fighter he was. I do not think I would have been a match for him.”

“He was dangerous,” Kurt agreed. “I think you could have beaten him, but you could have been wounded.”

“Unless you stood back from a safe distance to shoot,” Vasco suggested. “You have a pistol, but you hardly ever use it.”

“I’m not a very good shot,” de Sardet admitted. “At least, not in the heat of battle. You have to worry about reloading, and I’ve always found magic to be easier to use at range.”

“At least I can give Manfred the names of the men we saw with him earlier,” said Kurt. “I think I recognized a few of them – and once we have them, more will follow. The recruits won’t know as much, but they may break under questioning more easily.”

“That lieutenant spoke of torture. You won’t have them tortured, will you?”

Kurt’s mouth set in a thin line. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said. “They’ll be questioned, and they won’t be treated well, but torture doesn’t work. There comes a point where a man will say anything to make the pain stop, whether or not it’s true.”

“I wish we hadn’t had to kill them. If they’d only surrendered—”

“They would have been hanged,” said Kurt. “If not worse. Extortion, murder…you don’t have to pity them, Green Blood.”

But he could tell her heart was heavy as they returned to Manfred. _She hates killing. I wish I could protect her from it._

De Sardet explained the outcome of the investigation to Manfred: the discovery of Egon and his extortion ring, the deaths of the guards who had tried to kill Laurent, the merchant.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. I shall have these men arrested immediately,” Manfred said after Kurt had supplied their names. “These foolish brutes do not harm only your merchants but the entire reputation of the Guard.” He frowned. “But you said you’ve only put an end to it temporarily? What makes you think this criminality might resume?”

De Sardet went on, relating the tale of lieutenant they’d pursued, the silver coins that had been the marker of gang membership, the confrontation. “The man preferred to die than tell us anything about his leader.”

“Loyalty, or terror?” Manfred asked.

De Sardet reviewed all they’d learned. “Terror, I fear. From the merchants to the guards, everyone seems to tremble in front of this Egon,” she concluded. Manfred reassured her that he would conduct a thorough investigation, thanking her profusely for her involvement.

As de Sardet turned to go, Kurt caught Manfred by the arm. “Don’t let this go. We have to find the answer,” he insisted. “As you said, this dishonors the reputation of the entire Guard…and there were more men involved than I would have wanted to believe.”

“Sieglinde will be upset,” said Manfred. “She has suspected something awful…to tell the truth, I told her she was overreacting, jumping at shadows…but she might be right after all.”

“Something awful? You mean, she had suspicions about this gang?”

“Not exactly, but…I don’t want to talk about it,” said Manfred. “You’d best meet her when she comes back to the city. She didn’t confide it all in me, and you know me, I’m not one for the intricacies of plots!”

Kurt wasn’t entirely satisfied, but nodded: he trusted Manfred, liked him, but he also knew Manfred was correct about his own limitations. _I’d trust the man on the battlefield with a weapon on his hand, but he’s no tactician, and no strategist either._ Give him an order and he’d follow it to the letter, but Manfred had never been the sort he’d want leading an investigation. Kurt couldn’t blame him; it wasn’t the way Coin Guard were trained. _Put your head down, shut your mouth, and obey. Don’t ask questions. Do your duty._ It was the sort of lesson that had been beaten into him, and even decades later, that sort of training was difficult to overcome. _Manfred didn’t train at the ghost camp, but even ordinary training teaches you all of that._

 _I hope Sieglinde comes back to the city soon._ He knew she would be a busy woman, with many demands on her time, but he hoped she’d have time for an old friend. _This is something she needs to hear about. I don’t like it._

“I’m sorry we had to deal with that,” he apologized afterward.

“It was my duty,” de Sardet replied. “Manfred was right to ask for our help.”

“It’s something the Guard should have dealt with.”

“Except that it seems you can’t trust them,” Vasco replied. “I can understand why that quartermaster brought you into it. You seem to know him, and you’re new to the island.”

“Manfred and I have been comrades for a long time. We’ve known each other for nearly twenty years. I’d trust him with my life.”

“I hope that he can arrest all the men involved,” said de Sardet.

“I hope so too, but I get the feeling this isn’t the last we’ve heard of this Egon. As much as I’d like to believe Sieglinde will clean things up when she gets back, I don’t like thinking of how it got this far in the first place. She’s not the sort to tolerate corruption in the ranks.”

“If there is, we’ll take care of it,” de Sardet reassured him, but Kurt couldn’t help but think she still looked shaken, and he couldn’t help but hope it would be the last time she had to use her magic against a human opponent for a very long while.


	29. A Native Merchant

Kurt was glad when the next few days brought only routine matters: briefings with de Courcillon, supper with Constantin, a visit from Lady de Morange. He visited the barracks and the palace, reviewed the guards’ duty rosters, and did his best to get to know the men and women under his command.

He was with de Sardet, visiting the blacksmith, when he heard a native merchant calling out to them. “ _A to, oi!_ Can you help me?”

De Sardet approached. “ _Beurd tir to mad, on ol menawi_! Why are you dressed like this?”

“Hello,” she answered. “I’m not one of your people. I’m the legate of the Merchant Congregation.”

“A legate? Is that someone important?”

Vasco coughed back a laugh as de Sardet answered. “Indeed. I am in charge of diplomatic relationships with other nations.”

The man brightened. “So you’ll be able to help me!” He explained his problem: the Coin Guard was confiscating his merchandise, though he didn’t understand why. De Sardet promised to try to clear things up.

“I hope this has nothing to do with the guards’ corruption,” she said.

“It would be easier if it did,” Kurt said. “If it was the work of this Egon, at least we could hope it was done with.”

But Manfred explained the situation was entirely different: the city regulations required all merchants to hold a trading permit, which the native merchant lacked, forcing the Coin Guard to confiscate the man’s goods.

De Sardet brightened, and Kurt was glad: it was something she could help with. _Something that’s not likely to lead to a fight._ “Monsieur Vaillancourt should be the one in charge of dealing with this,” she said. “As the diplomatic affairs advisor, he has charge over all foreign trade, whether the merchant in question is from the Bridge Alliance, Theleme, or a native of Teer Fradee.”

“What sort of man is he?” Vasco wanted to know. “Do you think he’ll cause problems?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Constantin finds him tiresome, but he feels that way about many of the courtiers here. I’ve only met him in passing.”

They found Vaillancourt in his office on the main floor of the palace. Kurt’s first impression of the man was that he was the perfect bureaucrat: he was a short, officious-looking sort of man, with an immaculately-groomed appearance that spoke of immense attention to what others thought. At least a decade Kurt’s senior, Vaillancourt had graying brown hair that was pulled back into a queue, mutton chops, and a neatly-trimmed pointed goatee and moustache; he wore a red doublet with gold brocade, a starched white cravat, and neatly-polished leather boots that didn’t look as if they’d ever been worn outside a palace.

“Lady de Sardet,” said Vaillancourt as she entered; he didn’t acknowledge either Kurt or Vasco. Kurt was used to it, but he thought the Naut captain seemed a little offended. “This is quite the honor. I know we were introduced at that dinner your cousin held when you first arrived, but I don’t believe we ever had the chance to speak.”

“We did not,” de Sardet acknowledged. “Something I hope to rectify now, Minister.” She paused. “Also, I do not believe you have been properly introduced to my companions. Please allow me to introduce Captain Kurt, the captain of the palace guard, formerly master-at-arms for my uncle’s palace in Serene, and Captain Vasco of the Nauts, currently on detached duty, and serving as an emissary of his people to the legate’s office in New Serene.”

Vaillancourt looked slightly startled; Kurt suspected the man was not used to having his fellow lords introduce their guards. _I doubt he knows the names of any of the men and women who protect him here._ “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he said, though there was enough uncertainty in his voice that Kurt doubted it.

“I do not wish to trouble you, but there is a matter that has come to my attention,” de Sardet said. “I would like to talk to you about an islander who is trying to set up shop in our city.” She spoke of the merchant and his need for a patent.

Kurt had thought that Vaillancourt would be eager to help the governor’s cousin, but to his surprise, the man did not readily acquiesce. “And you want me to provide him with the said patient. I would be delighted to show you the procedure to follow that we may study his request…”

Vaillancourt launched into a detailed explanation of the process required: making an evaluation of the merchant’s goods to determine their value, assessing the proper tax rate, deciding upon where the man would be allowed to set up shop and cry his wares, the permits that would be required for such an endeavor, and the application process for those permits. He wasn’t three sentences into his explanation before Kurt saw de Sardet frown, and he couldn’t help but think that he shared her impatience.

_The man’s a born paper-pusher,_ Kurt thought. _He cares more for rules and regulations than the real world._ He wondered if Vaillancourt had ever had a life beyond his office walls. _I can’t blame Constantin for finding him tiresome. I haven’t been around the man for half an hour and I’m ready to send him on a boat back to the mainland._

“…in short, these things take time!” Vaillancourt concluded. “A lot of time.”

Kurt had to stifle a yawn, and Vasco leaned over and muttered, “These things would take a lot less time if he’d stop talking.”

He thought de Sardet heard, though Vaillancourt did not; at least, the hint of a smile briefly replaced her frustration. “I’m certain that my cousin will be delighted to hear that our relations with the natives are progressing in a significant way,” she said, giving Vaillancourt her most charming smile, though Kurt was certain that charm was entirely lost on the minister.

“Indeed,” said Vaillancourt. “I seem to recall reading a circular on the necessity of establishing good relations with the natives. We could accelerate things by leaving some formalities for later.”

“I would think so too,” de Sardet said.

“Very well,” Vaillancourt conceded. “In that case…” He moved to his desk and sat down, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour later, he was done. “Here is the patent that will allow your protégé to legally pursue his activity in the city. You should give him this copy; the other one will be kept in the archives.” Vaillancourt raised a second sheaf of papers, which he carefully filed. “However, one of my representatives will visit his stall for the estimation and to determine the tax rate in accordance with the…”

De Sardet gave him another warm smile. “Thanks a lot, Minister. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Vasco coughed back a laugh at the bald-faced lie.

“Goodbye, Your Excellency.”

“Well, that was easier than I expected,” Kurt said as they left.

“Is that the first time you’ve had to put your diplomatic skills to the test?” Vasco asked.

“She did persuade that merchant, Laurent, to speak,” Kurt pointed out.

“This is what I expected to be doing,” de Sardet admitted. “I suspect my duties will involve many such issues. I hope that they will all be solved so easily!”

But she had spoken too soon: they had just returned with the patent when the merchant rushed forward. His face paint was smeared, his headpiece askew, and his manner was entirely agitated. “You came back! Something terrible happened!”

“What is it? I was just bringing you the patent you needed to set up shop.”

“The _bod airni_ came back and they took my cousin away.” He explained that the Coin Guard had arrested his cousin, who was bringing him a shipment of goods from their village; the pelts and crafted objects had also been confiscated. “The warriors came back. They took everything he was bringing me…and they took him!”

“You’d think that quartermaster could have waited,” Vasco groused as they made their way to the barracks. “He knew we were looking into the matter.”

“I hope we can clear this up,” said Kurt. “Manfred knows what’s going on, but word might not have gotten to his men.”

Manfred was apologetic. “I’m afraid my men ran out of patience when they saw the hunter making deliveries for him again. They tried to confiscate his cargo, but the lad resisted, and he was thrown in jail for disorderly conduct. If you want to set him free, that’s where you must go. Sorry again, Your Excellency…I should have known you’d manage to obtain the necessary license for your protégé and told the patrol.”

“Hell fire, Manfred,” Kurt groused. “You couldn’t have brought it up to them?”

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I didn’t think of it. Truth be told, I didn’t realize the new legate would be so conscientious in her duty.” Manfred gave de Sardet an embarrassed look. “I should have known, after the way you dealt with the commander’s merchandise and with the extorted merchants, but I’m too used to dealing with the last legate…he’d make all sorts of promises and never follow up on anything.” He looked again to de Sardet. “I really am sorry.”

De Sardet sighed. “We’ll straighten things out.”

“This is a disgrace,” Kurt said as they moved toward the jail.

“It doesn’t speak well of that quartermaster,” said Vasco. “Or his superiors…Major Sieglinde and Commander Torsten, isn’t it?”

“Manfred’s a good man, but better at following orders than taking initiative for himself,” said Kurt. “But I won’t have you speaking ill of him – or Sieglinde or the commander, for that matter. I’ve fought with Manfred and Sieglinde; we owe each other our lives many times over. Sieglinde’s a good woman. If she was in New Serene, she’d have taken care of all this, I’m sure of it.”

“Then where is she? If she’s the major in charge of overseeing New Serene, shouldn’t she be here?”

“She has her duties with the other regiments as well,” said Kurt, feeling defensive. _Sieglinde is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. If not for her, I wouldn’t be serving in the Blue-Silver._ “The eighth is only one of three regiments the Coin Guard has serving the Congregation on New Serene; the others patrol the roads and explore the wilderness. And from what Manfred’s told me, the commander’s been keeping her in the field lately.”

“It would seem to me that the city should be more important. We haven’t been on this island for three weeks, and look at all the corruption we’ve seen. Your commander and his smuggled guns, this Egon and his extortion, and now these guards throwing their weight around—”

“Throwing their weight around? They’re following the orders that windbag of a minister gave them. Who do you think told them to confiscate goods that came into the city without one of those patents?” Kurt looked to de Sardet. “I’m not any happier about this than you are, Green Blood. Manfred should’ve told the guards to hold up. But I won’t stand by and hear my comrades insulted for doing their duty.”

“Or failing to do it?” Vasco prodded him. “Given all the goings-on with this Egon and his men.”

De Sardet intervened. “We’ve set things to right, or at least set them on the right track,” she said. “And we’ll do so here. Kurt is right: Quartermaster Manfred should have told his men to be less zealous, but these men were only obeying the orders that Minister Vaillancourt had issued regarding unlicensed goods.” She sighed. “And, in all honesty, I cannot blame them if they assumed that I would not act so hastily. I have heard a great deal of my predecessor, Legate de Courtenay, but unfortunately none of it has been good. From what I understand, he would promise a great deal, but never delivered on any of it. It will take time to convince people that I will be a very different sort of legate.”

“Not long at all, if you keep up the way you’ve been,” Kurt said. “Deeds matter more than words. Always.”

“Though a legate’s deeds often involve making plenty of speeches,” Vasco pointed out. “As you’ve already had the occasion to learn.”

“Between sweet-talking that merchant into acting as bait for those wretches who called themselves Coin Guard and persuading that idiot of a minister to write up that patent, I’d say you’re getting plenty of practice,” Kurt agreed.

“I only hope that this gaoler can be talked around as easily,” said de Sardet as they made their way into the basement of the barracks, to where the Coin Guard had their jails.

They found the gaoler, but not his prisoner: de Sardet had barely mentioned that they were looking for a native prisoner when the guard interrupted, informing her that he’d been sent to fight in the arena.

“In the arena? So this man was judged? Who pronounced the sentence?”

“Whoa there! Do you really think that we would organize a proper trial for a savage? He attacked some guards, he’s lucky he wasn’t gunned down right there and then! At least in the arena, he has a chance of survival, since apparently he’s a hunter!”

“This man was only defending the goods he was bringing to his cousin,” de Sardet said, outraged. “And now he has to fight for his life?”

The gaoler saw her anger and retreated. “I have no hand in this! I’m not the one who made this decision! They brought him here and then they took him away, that’s all.”

“What did you do with the goods he had with him?”

“They got confiscated, put in the storeroom like all the rest.”

“We’ll be taking those.” The gaoler didn’t protest, and Kurt and Vasco picked up the heavy baskets.

“The arena,” de Sardet said. “Can we get him out? And who are these men that the gaoler is speaking of?”

“I’m not sure,” Kurt admitted. “But we’d best find out.”

They returned to the barracks to ask Manfred. “I’m sorry, Kurt,” he said. “I asked about it again, and it turns out that Lieutenant Ludger’s the one behind this.”

“Lieutenant, is it? Well, that should be easy enough to take care of. We’re both captains; one of us can order him to let the man go.”

“I’m afraid it’s not so easy. Ludger’s one of the commander’s favorites. Sieglinde never liked him much, but Commander Torsten’s been grooming him for promotion. He’s on the fast track to make captain. I think that Torsten would’ve tried to have him appointed as captain of the palace guard if word hadn’t come down that you were the Prince d’Orsay’s own personal choice.”

_The Princess de Sardet’s choice, more like,_ Kurt thought, remembering his conversation with Jeanne de Sardet.

“Ludger’s taken charge of the man. He was the one who gave the orders to have him taken to the Coin Arena to fight – but those orders aren’t from Ludger, they’re from Torsten, or at least he’ll say they are. I wouldn’t do anything to run afoul of the commander, Kurt; between you and me, bad things seem to happen to those who do.”

“More corruption,” Vasco muttered. “And this at the very top. Wonderful.”

“I didn’t say that!” Manfred said, panicked. “I don’t want this getting back to him. I like my post.”

“We won’t say a word,” de Sardet reassured him. She looked to Kurt. “We should go to the arena, to see if we can convince them to issue a stay for this man’s fight. And then we’ll speak with Constantin. Commander Torsten is the head of the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee, but he is still employed by the Congregation.”

They made their way to the Coin Arena, where de Sardet paid their entry fee to Lieutenant Rein and introduced themselves to Lieutenant Alaric, the arena master.

“I hear that you have a man who has been taken prisoner,” said de Sardet. “A native hunter.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, Lieutenant Ludger delivered him to the arena today,” said Alaric. “Gave orders that the man will be made to fight to the death for his judgment.”

“Under whose command?”

“Commander Torsten’s, he said. He wants to make an example of the man for assaulting Coin Guard. Apparently, he gave as good as he got: he smashed up Recruit Luther’s face, and Recruit Gunter was hurt pretty badly; he’s in the infirmary now, and they don’t know that he’ll be quick to recover. Hit his head on the cobblestones when the hunter knocked him down. Ludger’s saying if he dies, he wants to make sure the man doesn’t come out of the arena alive – though that’s between us two, if anyone asks.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said de Sardet. “I hope that both recruits will recover speedily. But as for the hunter…he was only protecting his goods, and his cousin. This was all an unfortunate misunderstanding. The guards should never have attempted to confiscate those goods in the first place; the merchant had obtained the proper patent from Minister Vaillancourt, and was only awaiting its delivery.”

“Well, misunderstanding or not, he’s assaulted two members of the Coin Guard,” said Alaric, “and from what Ludger’s said, the commander’s awfully fired up about it.”

“Is there any way to ensure that he won’t be summarily executed?” de Sardet asked. “Could I ask you to at least postpone this fight?”

“There’s no need for that,” said Alaric. “We don’t have the beasts we’d need, and from what Lieutenant Ludger was saying, the commander wants to invite one of the best fighters to come over from the arena in Hikmet. All that will take time to arrange.”

“Can you send word to the palace when a date is set?” de Sardet asked.

“Certainly,” said Alaric.

As they left, de Sardet looked to Kurt. “What sort of man is Commander Torsten? Why would he be seeking to harm this hunter?”

“I don’t know him well, only by reputation,” said Kurt. But he had been speaking with the recruits in the palace, and had carefully gleaned information from them as well. “But he seems to be popular with many of the men. They say he talks a good game about standing up for them. Talks about how nobles look down on us and use us but don’t give the Guard the respect it deserves, that sort of thing. Not that I think his words have any merit – not here, at least,” he said. “But for men in the Red Sun and Green-Azure, where their commanders send them to fight one another and die for Theleme and the Bridge, and where they don’t ever see half the bonuses that are supposed to be paid to them for risking their lives fighting other members of the Guard…well, it hits home.”

“He’s supposed to be an honorable man, but I know Sieglinde’s not fond of him. Says he talks a lot, but doesn’t back his words with honest action.”

“Two members of the Coin Guard were hurt,” Vasco said reluctantly. “That makes things harder. If it were two Nauts, I could see Admiral Cabral standing up for them and insisting on justice…whether or not they started the fight,” he admitted.

“You heard how that gaoler spoke of the natives. He called them savages, and implied the man deserved to be shot in the street, like a rabid animal. That’s hardly fair.”

“It isn’t,” Kurt agreed, “but he’s also a man who knows two of his comrades have been wounded. If he knew them, that’ll be enough to make him say some things that cross a line or two – not that I’m defending him,” he said, seeing the look de Sardet gave him. “But it will make it harder for you to negotiate his release.”

“I need Constantin’s help,” she agreed.

Constantin was busy that evening, entertaining an emissary of the Bridge Alliance, but de Sardet arranged a meeting for early afternoon the next day. “My fair cousin! What can I do for you?”

De Sardet explained. “It seems that a greater authority than mine will be required to secure this man’s freedom,” she said.

“You are the legate of the Congregation! My right hand! I’ll speak with this Torsten,” said Constantin. “I hope we’ll have this man released by nightfall. I heard how you convinced Monsieur Vaillancourt to grant that merchant his patent. I’m amazed you managed to talk any sense into him. I can hardly listen to him without falling asleep. But he came to me, singing your praises and telling me that he hoped I would be pleased with the assistance he’d granted you…all in the name of securing better relations with the natives, of course!”

“I hope we can secure better relations with them,” said de Sardet. “I understand that Lady de Morange did everything she could to further good relations with the native clans during her time in office, but I hope we can do even more.”

“As do I. Our neighbors in the Bridge Alliance and Theleme seem to have given them a particularly poor impression of people from the continent. Do you know, that emissary from the Bridge was trying to convince me to lend him some of our guards to help them attack the natives? It seems that Governor Burhan has been speaking of assembling an army to put down some of the more aggressive clans.”

“Please tell me you declined.”

“Of course! The Bridge Alliance are our allies, but I have no desire to antagonize the natives. We are here to make friends, and to trade, not to start a war. I have never enjoyed fighting.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in armor,” de Sardet said. “Except practice doublets in the training yard, that is.”

“I have never been fond of fighting. A duel is one thing, but the thought of risking my life on the battlefield…well, I will admit that I may have played at covering myself in glory on the battlefield as a child, but I find I have no desire for it now.”

“That’s a good thing,” said Kurt. “I don’t think you’d last five minutes on a real battlefield.”

“If I wouldn’t, whose fault is that?” Constantin rejoined.

“There’s no glory on a battlefield anyway,” Kurt said, thinking of his own experiences. “Only blood, and death, and nothing good.”

“Which is why I denied the Bridge their request. They think me young and foolish, but I am not so easily taken advantage of. One benefit of my upbringing, I suppose.” He drew himself up. “I’ll speak with this Commander Torsten for you, dear cousin. Never fear; I’ll have this corrected by this evening. We’ll meet again tomorrow, and I’ll regale you with the tale of how I secured this hunter’s freedom!”

But the next day, de Sardet, Kurt, and Vasco returned to find Constantin seething. “It seems his meeting did not go as planned,” Vasco said under his breath as they entered the throne room to find Constantin pacing unhappily before the windows.

“Cousin!” Constantin exclaimed. “I wish I had better news to give.”

“I do not see the hunter,” de Sardet said, frowning. “You were unsuccessful?”

“Unfortunately not. I would have liked nothing better than to order the man’s release, but my advisors have informed me that it seems it would cause a great deal of difficulty.” Constantin gestured to Lady de Morange and Sir de Courcillon, who stood nearby.

Lady de Morange stepped forward. “It seems that one of the Coin Guards who attempted to arrest the man was very badly injured,” she said. “The physician who has been attending him is unsure whether or not he will survive.”

“It seems that when the guards attempted to make their arrest, the hunter fought back,” Constantin added. “I applaud the man’s refusal to surrender to injustice, but it seems that in the struggle, one of the guards fell and struck his head against the pavement.”

“It seems that many of the guards are furious,” said Sir de Courcillon. “Or, at least, they would be if Governor d’Orsay summarily ordered the man’s release.”

“They want justice for their fallen comrade,” said Constantin. “Many of them are bloodthirsty…as befits mercenaries hired for their ability to spill blood, I suppose.”

“There is a great deal of pent-up resentment among the ordinary recruits,” said Lady de Morange. “Commander Torsten has always been something of a…populist, I suppose you would say. Popular among his men, and fond of making speeches in their support.” She sniffed. “Though if you ask me, I haven’t seen him actually do anything to improve the lot of his men, or to follow through with any of the rabble-rousing speeches he makes to those common soldiers. The way he carries on about how the nobility fail to acknowledge their sacrifices, or to give them the respect they deserve…” She waved a hand airily, as if to dismiss their grievances out of hand.

Kurt kept his thoughts to himself, but he thought de Morange’s reaction proved Torsten had a point. _Too many nobles do ignore us,_ he thought. _Ignore us, or disrespect us, or treat us like nothing._ Alexandra de Sardet had always been the exception, but even Constantin d’Orsay was prone to acting as if Kurt had no feelings or opinions of his own.

“In short, if we ordered this Commander Torsten to release the hunter, he would undoubtedly do so, but he would take great joy in using it to make political capital against me,” said Constantin. “It would arouse resentment among the recruits. The rich and powerful, disregarding the lives of a few Coin Guard to assuage the feelings of a few savages…”

“This hunter was defending himself,” said de Sardet. “He was attacked!”

“By men carrying out their lawful duties in the name of the Merchant Congregation,” said Sir de Courcillon. “They were only making a lawful arrest, under the auspices of Minister Vaillancourt.”

“Who is not here,” said de Sardet, frowning.

“He has occupied himself with other duties,” said Constantin. “I met with him earlier. You would not want him here anyway. Tiresome fool of a man!” Constantin missed the look that Laurine de Morange gave him then, as if she was caught between agreement and wondering if Constantin spoke that way of her when she was not present, but Kurt saw it.

_The joys of being a guard,_ he thought. _No one watches you, and you see everything._

“We cannot leave this poor man to be killed in the arena,” said de Sardet. “If the guards truly are looking for vengeance, then they will certainly arrange some sort of challenge where he will be killed out of hand.”

“They are speaking of setting both a renowned fighter from Hikmet and a few of the island beasts against him,” said Constantin. “I cannot imagine he will survive.”

“Then we must do something!”

Constantin spread his hands. “I would love to do something, but what? I cannot afford to alienate the Coin Guard; they are our only protection on this island, and on Gacane as well. Commander Torsten only oversees operations here on Teer Fradee, but I understand that he is an influential man within the Guard, and looking for higher office.” He sighed. “I would love to be your knight in shining armor, my fair cousin, but I find that I cannot sweep in on a white stallion to save the day.”

De Sardet frowned. “Have you sent your own physicians to attend the wounded guard? Perhaps Doctor Caron or one of the other palace physicians might be able to do something that the Coin Guard’s doctors cannot.”

“I will certainly do so if it will ease your mind, but I would think one doctor would be as efficacious as another…not that I think these doctors can do much,” Constantin said. “I find that they cannot even soothe an upset stomach!”

De Sardet’s concern shifted. “Is that still troubling you?”

“A little, but no matter,” Constantin said, waving her off. “I suspect that it is the stress of dealing with irritating political matters such as this one. My father always spoke of ulcers. But never mind!”

“You have caused quite the commotion in the Coin Guard already,” Lady de Morange told her. “Some of the guards were upset over the operation that led to the deaths of several of their fellows.”

“Those men were attempting to murder a merchant,” de Sardet protested. “And they had already murdered his partner, a Monsieur Renaud.”

De Morange frowned. “I remember that,” she said. “There were murmurs that it was a case of extortion, but as none of the merchants would agree to speak, there was little I could do. I asked the Coin Guard to look into it, but after that, the matter was quite lost. I had hoped that it was at an end.”

“We stopped those guards from murdering Monsieur Renaud, but I doubt that it will be the end of it,” de Sardet replied. “They carried marked silver coins, and their lieutenant spoke of reporting to a superior named Egon…and he preferred death to being questioned further on the matter. Whoever this Egon is, I doubt he will stop simply because a few of his lackeys have been killed.”

“That matter has already stirred some of the guards,” said de Morange. “They were upset that you did not arrest the men for trial.”

“I would have preferred that, but it proved impossible. They fought to the death.” De Sardet’s face clouded, and Kurt knew she was dwelling on those deaths.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he spoke up, drawing the attention of the other nobles. Kurt tensed despite himself; addressing nobility without first being spoken to was a cardinal sin in the Congregation. _Guards should be seen and not heard. They’d rather pretend we don’t exist unless we’re defending them._

But he spoke out of a desire to protect Alexandra de Sardet, and that desire outweighed his desire to avoid offending the others in the room. _I don’t give a damn what they think._ “She tried to arrest them. Even gave the lieutenant a chance to surrender when she’d downed him. They all knew what awaited them if they did. They chose to die in battle instead of on the gallows; that isn’t her fault.”

“You told me it was a bad idea,” she said. “I still gave the order.”

“You acted to save a man’s life. There’s no shame in that,” Kurt told her.

De Sardet looked to the others. “When I came up with the plan, Kurt told me that they wouldn’t allow themselves to be quietly arrested. He said that they would fight.”

“What has this Torsten said about their corruption?” Vasco broke in; his interruption drew the nobles’ attention, and Kurt was glad of it. “Has anyone asked him about how he could let a ring of extortioners and thugs flourish under his watch?”

“He’s placed a great deal of the blame on his major,” Constantin said. “It seems he believes that the major in charge of the Blue-Silver Regiment has been neglecting her duties.”

“Sieglinde? Never,” Kurt said, and winced inwardly at the stares from de Courcillon and de Morange. “I know Major Sieglinde. She’s a good officer – the very best. She would never neglect her duties.”

“I always found her to be quite conscientious,” Lady de Morange agreed. “We traveled to Teer Fradee together, and she has had charge of the Blue-Silver Regiment for as long as I have been on the island. However, it was always clear to me that she does not get along with Commander Torsten; the two seem to dislike each other greatly.”

“Why is that, I wonder?” Constantin asked.

“Ambition, perhaps? If this Major Sieglinde wishes for Commander Torsten’s post…” Sir de Courcillon suggested.

“Sieglinde isn’t the sort,” said Kurt. “She does her duty, but she’s never sought power. From what I’ve heard of him, that’s a better description of Torsten.”

“Commander Torsten has only recently begun spending more time in New Serene,” said Lady de Morange. “For most of his tenure on the island, he has preferred to make his home in San Matheus. Over the last year or two, he has begun dividing his time more equally between the three cities of the island.”

“Perhaps Major Sieglinde resents the increased oversight,” de Sardet suggested. “Did the commander give a reason why he has been visiting New Serene more frequently? She may feel that he is questioning her competence.”

“He has not given a reason, but that may well be why,” said de Morange. “I have noticed that he has been taking a more active role in matters involving the Coin Guard.”

“Then we are dealing with not only a potential conflict between the Coin Guard and the Congregation, but one within the Coin Guard itself,” said Constantin. “Tread carefully, cousin. I do not wish you to make enemies when we have only just arrived!”

“Is Major Sieglinde still away from the city?”

“Yes, reviewing troops in the field. But it is Commander Torsten you would have to apply to in any case.”

“Do you think I could do so? If I could speak with him…surely he will not be entirely unreasonable,” said de Sardet. “I understand that he wishes for justice for his wounded men, but murdering a man who was only defending his wares and his cousin from guards who had assaulted them in the past is not justice.”

“You could certainly speak with him, though I do not know what good it would do,” said Constantin. “I spoke with him myself. It is quite clear that he will not release the man.” He sighed. “Despite the fact that he is commander of the Coin Guard, he took umbrage at my suggestion of monetary compensation. I assure you, I offered a very generous sum!”

“Is he in the barracks now?”

“Yes,” said Constantin. “But…tread carefully, cousin, and remember that even the best diplomat cannot succeed every time!”

“I refuse to accept that my first failure will result in the loss of a man’s life,” de Sardet replied.

“The loss of a single man’s life would be preferable to a breach with the Coin Guard,” de Courcillon said. “If the Coin Guard were to end its contract with the Congregation, even if it were only on Teer Fradee, the consequences would be most severe. We could not hope to hold this city without their help.”

“I hope that I would never do anything so drastically wrong as to warrant that.”

“I am sure you could not, but this Torsten, well…” Constantin frowned. “It seemed to me that he was looking for a reason to take offense. I am sure that he would be pleased if he could find a way to extract a larger sum of coin from us in exchange for our continued protection. Those extortionist guards may have taken their example from the very top!”

Kurt saw de Courcillon and de Morange nod their agreement, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of resentment. _They think we lack honor,_ he thought. _As if we’re all a bunch of brigands who’d go back on our given word._

But it wasn’t his place to speak, and he remained silent as de Sardet exchanged goodbyes with her fellow nobles and left the throne room.

“What do you know of Commander Torsten?” de Sardet asked him as they moved down the palace steps.

“Only what I’ve heard from Sieglinde, for the most part,” said Kurt. “We’ve exchanged a few letters, over the year. She isn’t impressed with the commander. She says that Torsten says a lot of things. He talks of brotherhood, and better pay, and maybe even of asking for better provisions for our soldiers in their contracts – land, or citizenship in the country you’ve spent your life serving, if you don’t have it already.” 

“But that all seems admirable,” said de Sardet.

“She thinks Torsten says all that to get support, but has no intention of following through. She says that any bonuses he’s negotiated end up in his own pocket, or in his cronies’. She wrote a little of corruption in the ranks, and that she thought the commander was stifling her investigations – but she couldn’t speak much of that, even in a letter. After all, Torsten is still her commanding officer, and if he found out she’d hinted at half of what she’s said to me, he’d have her court-martialed for insubordination.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He’s my commanding officer now too, Green Blood,” Kurt reminded her. “And I haven’t met him, not personally. I’d like to know what he’s doing with those weapons, and I don’t like being made into a smuggler – but he’s the commander, and he might have his reasons. It’s not my place to ask.”

“Even when he’s making you into a smuggler?” Vasco asked. “If you’d been caught, do you think he’d have helped you?”

“I know he wouldn’t have.”

“Say what you will of our admirals, Admiral Cabral would never ask such a thing of any of her captains,” said Vasco. “How can you give your loyalty to a commander who would be willing to abandon you at the first sign of trouble?”

“I didn’t have a hand in electing Torsten,” said Kurt. “We elect our commanders, but Torsten was elected regional commander of Teer Fradee back when there were only two cities on the island.”

“So the soldiers of both the Red Sun and Green-Azure Regiments voted for him?” de Sardet asked.

Kurt nodded. “From what I understand, he was a compromise candidate. They all liked what he had to say about not making them fight one another…or, at least, demanding an exorbitant sum of money if the governors tried to force the issue.”

“I will never understand that,” said Vasco. “Nauts would never fight one another, not for any amount of coin.”

“Do you know anything else about the commander? Has Manfred said anything?”

“You’ve heard everything he’s told me,” said Kurt. “He seems nervous around the commander, but Manfred’s always been nervous around any of his superior officers. I used to joke with him about how he’d act if I made captain before he did.” He paused. “But I trust Sieglinde.”

De Sardet stopped; they had made their way through the Silver District and into the alleyway that connected the district to the barracks, and she took the moment of relative privacy to speak. “I hope you know how sorry I am that the guards were injured,” she said. “It is not that I value their lives less than the hunter’s, but—”

“The man doesn’t deserve to die because he fought back,” said Kurt. “I agree with you, Green Blood. There are two separate issues here: what actually happened with the hunter, and what the men think.”

“Not to mention the issue of the silver coin,” said Vasco. “I’m sure that the men we didn’t catch are happy to inflame public opinion against you, de Sardet. They won’t be happy they’ve lost that source of income, or that you did have several of their peers arrested.” They had identified the men who’d met with the lieutenant, and Kurt knew those recruits had been placed under arrest, though they weren’t talking.

_I wonder how thoroughly Torsten’s questioning them,_ he thought, but dismissed the thought. _The commander might protect his men, but he won’t protect men who sully the Guard’s good name._

He could see the relief in de Sardet’s eyes as she looked at him. “I’m so glad you understand. “I did not want you to think that I did not value the lives of those two men who were wounded.”

“I know you too well for that,” Kurt answered. “It was good of you to make sure Constantin sends his doctor to them. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it was kind.”

“Constantin should have done that first.” De Sardet sighed. “I hope I can help. I do not know how I can face that native merchant if I cannot save his cousin.”

“You can tell him you did everything you could,” said Vasco. Kurt was surprised to hear the note of sympathy in the sailor’s voice. “Constantin is right. None of this is your fault.”

“Blame will not matter if the hunter dies,” de Sardet replied. With that, she turned and went straight into the barracks, leaving Kurt and Vasco to catch up.


	30. Meeting Commander Torsten

De Sardet went directly to Commander Torsten’s office. She found a solidly-built man of average height, all compact muscle beneath a studded red leather doublet. The Coin Guard commander looked every inch the hardened soldier: he was completely bald, his head shaved bare, with a hint of stubble around his mouth and chin. His nose looked as if it had been broken once or twice, and he bore his share of battle scars – though, de Sardet noted, not nearly as many as Kurt.

“Lady de Sardet, I presume,” he said, looking up.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure you know Captain Kurt, the captain of my cousin’s guard; this is Captain Vasco of the Nauts, whose assistance Admiral Cabral has lent me on behalf of the Nauts.”

“The Nauts providing a diplomat of their own? Well, that’s new,” Torsten mused.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a diplomat,” said Vasco.

That drew a smile from Torsten. “That’s all right. Neither am I.”

“I must admit that the role is very new to me as well,” said de Sardet.

“You’ve been busy, from what I understand. Captain Manfred says you gave us some assistance with that cargo I entrusted Captain Kurt with.”

De Sardet nodded, wondering if she ought to tell Torsten she knew what those crates had contained. _No,_ she decided. While seeing Torsten’s reaction might be valuable, she found she had an instinctive mistrust of the man; she felt he was sizing her up, looking for weakness, and revealing any information at all felt somehow dangerous. “I was happy to help,” she replied. As she spoke, she felt Vasco’s eyes on her, and knew that the Naut captain was expecting her to mention the cargo.

_No,_ she thought, turning toward Vasco. As she spoke, she gave her head the slightest shake, hoping he would notice. “You must also thank Captain Vasco,” she said. “His aid in altering the cargo manifests and transporting the cargo itself was invaluable.”

“Just don’t tell my admiral,” said Vasco; she saw the sharp look in his eyes and knew he’d picked up on her hint. “I’ve already been grounded; if she finds out I turned smuggler for the Coin Guard, I’d never find my way back to sea.”

“If you don’t, you could consider a place in the Coin Guard,” Torsten told him. “Our guilds are very much alike, even if you Nauts don’t like to admit it. We may not tattoo ourselves, but we’re as much as a brotherhood of soldiers as you are a brotherhood of sailors.”

“The Nauts are my family,” Vasco replied. “I couldn’t think of leaving them.”

“Couldn’t you?” Torsten replied, and de Sardet saw Vasco recoil. “I know a little about those tattoos of yours. You’re sea-given, I see. Well, just remember this: the Nauts disdain us for our contracts, but at least we had a choice in the matter. You’re bound to the Nauts by a contract just as much as Kurt there is bound to the Coin Guard by his – the only difference is, he had a choice in whether or not to sign.”

“Did he?” Vasco answered. “From what I understand, he was given to the Coin Guard at a very young age.”

“Our contracts aren’t for life. He might’ve been given to the Guard as a child, but he didn’t have to stay in.” Torsten’s gaze moved to Kurt. “You’re a Coin Guard through and through, aren’t you? A good and loyal man.”

Kurt nodded. “Yes, sir.”

_I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kurt this tense,_ de Sardet thought. He seemed almost a different person: standing ramrod-straight, a soldier at attention, his voice strangely flat.

“I’ve heard good things about you,” Torsten told him, leaning back in his chair. “Many from Major Sieglinde. We may not get along, but Sieglinde does have an eye for capable officers…the good and honorable sort. We need that here, as you well know.”

His focus moved back to de Sardet. “Your actions regarding that protection ring have caused quite the stir within the Guard. I’ll have you know I support your actions; there’s no room in the Guard for men like that. But it’s made the men talk. News of the new legate killing half a dozen Coin Guard, including a lieutenant who’d served on this island since before there was a proper city…”

“I had hoped to arrest them,” said de Sardet. “Unfortunately, they refused.”

“Be that as it may, the men are wary of you,” Torsten replied. “They’re not happy. The legate of the Congregation kills half a dozen Coin Guard in one night…men whose only crimes involved shaking down a few merchants.”

“They had murdered a merchant,” de Sardet protested, outraged. “Monsieur Renaud, the partner of Monsieur Laurent, the merchant who was nearly killed—”

“I know,” Torsten said. “I’m telling you what they’re saying. I know what happened, de Sardet.” He leaned forward in the chair. “But the men think you don’t care about them – that you’re happy to let them risk themselves for the Congregation, but will kill them if they become inconvenient.”

“That isn’t true,” de Sardet protested.

“Be that as it may, you can understand why I had to tell your cousin I can’t let that hunter go. He injured two guards; one of those men may die.”

“Constantin will send his own personal physician to attend—”

“I doubt it will make a difference. He cracked his skull on the pavement. It’ll be up to whatever gods he worships to determine if he lives or dies now.”

“I am truly sorry for that,” said de Sardet. “I hope he recovers quickly. But this hunter was only defending himself. I know that the guards were only carrying out the orders that Minister Vaillancourt had issued,” she added hastily. “It is all an unfortunate misunderstanding – one that this hunter does not deserve to die for.”

“You’ll notice I’m not sentencing him to death,” said Torsten. “He’ll have a chance to fight for his freedom in the arena.”

“Against a skilled warrior from Hikmet and several beasts? Could you not make it a fairer fight?”

“The men voted on the punishment,” Torsten replied. “I can’t go against my own men.” His eyes narrowed. “But we could make it a little fairer, I suppose.”

“How so?”

“Prove that you care about that man’s innocence,” said Torsten. “Put yourself in the ring with him. You, yourself, not a Coin Guard you’ve paid to protect you or that Naut captain. If you stand alongside the man, he’ll have a fighting chance.”

“No,” Kurt said, and de Sardet turned in surprise. She saw that Kurt had caught himself almost immediately: he squared his shoulders, ducking his head. “With all due respect, sir, Legate de Sardet is my charge to protect. If she’s killed in the arena, it’ll be on my head.”

“It would be her decision,” Torsten pointed out. He steepled his fingers. “Fighting in the arena would earn you the respect of the men. Putting your own life on the line for this native would show them that you’re willing to back up your words with actions…and that you consider this man’s cause worth fighting for. The men of the Guard would respect that.”

“If I could show them that I have honor…” de Sardet mused.

“Anyone who’s met you knows how honorable you are,” Kurt said, and she thought she caught the edge of panic in his tone. “You don’t have to do this, Green Blood.”

“What other choice do I have?” She turned back to Torsten. “Is there truly no other way? I know that Constantin offered renumeration to the guards for their injuries—”

Torsten barked out a laugh. “Not quite. He offered a blood price for the injured guard, a payment to the Guard if he died. Not the man, not his family.”

“I am sure that is not what he meant—” de Sardet began, but Torsten waved her off.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re mercenaries, but the men would like to think their lives are worth something. They think you nobles feel like you can kill us at your whim, and throw a few coins at us afterward to make up for it. You never risk your own lives, and rely on us to protect you.”

“If you want to change their minds? Go ahead, step into the arena. Fight for this savage yourself. Prove that you think his life is worth standing up for – and not just by risking Captain Kurt’s life, or the lives of any of his recruits, but by risking your own life for him.”

“If you do that and win? My men will accept that. I’ll see that they do. If not, well…” Torsten gave a slight shrug. “I suppose you won’t be around to care.”

_I have to do this._ “If I do not intervene, this man is sure to die,” said de Sardet. “It will ruin our relations with the natives before we have even had a chance to begin to introduce ourselves. I cannot let that happen.”

“You won’t do any good if you get yourself killed,” said Kurt. “If I stand by while you go into that arena alone, Constantin will kill me.”

“You’ve trained me well. I can hold my own.”

“Against a trained arena fighter and some island beasts we’ve never faced? You don’t even know what they’re going to throw at you.”

“I’d be happy to tell the legate what she’ll be up against,” Torsten supplied. “And I’m sure that native hunter could tell her more.”

“Would you let her take a companion into the arena?” Vasco asked; his willingness to help surprised Kurt, who hadn’t been expecting the sailor to offer to risk his own neck. “Not Kurt, or any Coin Guard—”

“No,” said Torsten. “Not you. You’re a Naut, and too much like the rest of us. They’d assume she ordered you to protect her. A poor man’s Coin Guard, if you will.”

“What about Constantin?” de Sardet asked.

“Definitely not,” said Kurt. “He’d go in with you, I’m sure, but if you both got yourselves killed in that fight? The Prince d’Orsay wouldn’t stop with my head – and neither would your mother, for that matter.”

De Sardet recoiled at the mention of her mother. “Kurt,” she said, feeling as if it was a low blow.

“How would she feel if she heard anything happened to you?” he asked softly. “I promised to protect you, but if you do this, I won’t be able to go into that arena at your side. I’ll be stuck in the stands, watching. I don’t like that.”

“I know you don’t,” she replied. “But it seems we have no choice. You taught me well; I trust that I can hold my own.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Could any creature be worse than the monster I faced in Serene?”

“That monster was half-starved and drugged,” said Kurt. “Arena beasts are only starved enough to make them mean, and you can bet they won’t be drugged.”

“Even so,” she said, turning back to Torsten. “I accept.”

She thought Torsten was surprised, but nodded. “I’ll let you know when to expect the fight. It should be soon; I expect the fighter from Hikmet to arrive within three days, and my men were already bringing a shipment of beasts to the arena for the next round of fights. If you want to practice in the meantime, I’ll give Lieutenant Alaric orders to admit you to the arena any time you please, and let you speak with the hunter…assuming the savage speaks any Gacan.”

“I have a little of the natives’ tongue,” Vasco offered. “It might be enough to help you communicate.”

“There you go,” Torsten said, almost genially. “Good luck, Your Excellency. I hope this ends well. Captain Vasco,” he added, nodding to him, then, “Captain Kurt. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir,” Kurt said, and saluted.

“Look at you,” Vasco said as they made their way downstairs. “A right proper soldier. Spit-and-polish.”

“He’s the regional commander,” Kurt replied. “What did you expect me to do? Would you be any different before your admiral?” He turned to de Sardet without waiting for Vasco’s answer. “I don’t like this, Green Blood. Constantin won’t, either.”

“I know,” de Sardet said, frowning. “But it’s the only way to save this man’s life.”

“Or you could both be killed.”

“I hope not.”

“Do you think Torsten might throw the fight?” Vasco asked. “He knows that she’s the niece of the Prince d’Orsay, and that he won’t be pleased if she’s killed in the arena. Could he be doing this to placate his men?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to risk it,” said Kurt. “I don’t know him well enough to say. It’s too dangerous. If I was going in, that would be one thing, but for you to go in on your own—”

“You can help me practice,” she told him. 


	31. Preparing for a Fight

Kurt hoped that Constantin would talk de Sardet out of participating in the fight, but was disappointed to find that Constantin seemed to consider it a wonderful idea.

“You will be magnificent, I am sure,” he told her. “Sweeping in like a knight in shining armor, rescuing that poor hunter…you will be the hero of the arena!”

“It’s too dangerous,” Kurt protested.

“I am sure that Commander Torsten knows how important my dear cousin is to me…and to the Congregation as a whole,” said Constantin. “I am sure that he will instruct this fighter of his not to let any serious harm come to her.”

“He can’t say the same of those beasts,” said Kurt. He’d seen the monsters that the arena had secured for the occasion: great native beasts with leathery hides and razor-sharp hooves, capable of charging with surprising speed.

“I am sure he would intervene if it seemed she was going to come to any serious harm. Not that there’s a question of that, of course! I am entirely confident in your skills,” Constantin told his cousin. “Look at how you faced that monster on the docks!” He looked to Kurt. “If you’ll recall, she did that single-handedly, without your aid.” His tone was more than a bit petulant as he added, “Or mine, as much as I regret to say it. I would have been glad to help you on that occasion, of course, but Kurt did not think I was able to fight!”

“You were drunk,” Kurt said. “You couldn’t stay on your feet, let alone fight a beast that size.”

Constantin ignored him. “You were the hero of the day then, facing a creature larger than a building! A few island beasts and a single man can be nothing in comparison – and you will have this native hunter to help you!”

“I still don’t like this,” said Kurt. “Arena fights are dangerous. If something happens to you while that hunter is still on his feet, they won’t halt the fight to tend to you.”

“You fret too much, Kurt,” said Constantin. “You sound like a mother hen.” He clucked his tongue. “You trained us, but you act as if you have no confidence in our abilities. I would think that you would have more faith in our skills!”

“I’d thought you’d share my concerns. I trained you both, and I know you’re talented, but you’ve never had to fight for your life.”

“On the contrary, I’ve had my share of close calls in seedy taverns,” Constantin said, then laughed. “Perhaps more than you know of.”

“Or perhaps you were better-guarded than you realized,” Kurt answered. “You may have had your run-ins, but you were never quite as alone as you thought.” He looked again to de Sardet, wishing he could talk her out of her plan. “Where, in the arena, you will be entirely alone.”

“You are exaggerating the risk,” said Constantin. “People rarely die in arena fights. They are not the gladiators of the ancients, fighting to the death for the whim of some mad emperor; they are hired mercenaries like yourself, paid to fight for entertainment.”

“This is closer to the fights out of those history books,” Kurt pointed out. “Those same emperors would sentence criminals to fight to the death for their entertainment, and claim it was justice. That’s what Commander Torsten is doing with this man here.”

Constantin gave him a look of surprise. “Why, Kurt, I did not know you were a student of history!”

“I guarded you often enough during your lessons. I couldn’t have stayed ignorant if I’d tried.” _I think I paid more attention to some of those lectures than you did._ While a teenaged Constantin had been bored to tears with Sir de Courcillon’s lectures on military strategy and some of the greatest battles of the Gacan Empire, Kurt had listened more intently than either de Courcillon or his students had realized. _The tactics and strategy were worth learning…and I’ll admit, learning about those soldiers interested me too._ Men who’d lived and died more than a thousand years ago had lived lives similar enough to Kurt’s that he’d found himself listening with interest, imagining what it might have been like to live back then and realizing how little some things had changed.

“I did not realize you paid attention,” said Constantin. “I certainly did not, and it was expected of me! If I had the luxury, I would have been happy to stand at attention, daydreaming for hours.”

“You did daydream for hours,” de Sardet pointed out, laughing, “and you didn’t have to stand at attention.”

“I may have daydreamed during my lessons, but you know how I suffered for it. Sir de Courcillon was always glad to go running to my father, informing him of my latest infraction. I wish that he would have stayed in Serene!”

“Sir de Courcillon has been both kind and helpful,” said de Sardet. “He was a wonderful teacher. You must admit, he could always make our lectures interesting.”

_Green Blood is right,_ Kurt thought. _I’d never given much thought to history, beyond what they taught us in training…and most of that was all explanations for why the Bridge and Theleme were at war, or why the Merchant Congregation doesn’t keep a standing army, how the Coin Guard came to be._ Most of the officers’ training in history and politics had been of a more recent stamp; ancient history had largely been new to Kurt, and de Courcillon had been an apt tutor. _Even when he didn’t realize he was tutoring a guard along with two kids._ Kurt hadn’t needed de Courcillon’s lessons on geography, and he’d had no interest in the sciences, poetry, or theoretical mathematics, but he’d always listened intently when de Courcillon spoke of history. _I never thought I’d care about dead nobles who lived and died a thousand years ago, but there were stories there no man could invent…and those tales shaped the world we live in now._

He shook off the thought as Constantin went on. “I will disagree with you on that, cousin. Sir de Courcillon’s lectures have always been woefully tedious…and I find Kurt’s to be equally so.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to her,” said Kurt. “I’d thought you’d agree with me.” Again, he looked to de Sardet. “You’ve already risked your life more than I’d like. Fighting that beast on the docks in Serene, facing those corrupt guards to save that merchant’s life…I’m charged with your protection, but I won’t be able to protect you in that arena.”

“People don’t normally die in the arena, but if Torsten wants to placate the guards who are out for blood, he’ll let the fight go to the finish.” Kurt couldn’t decide if Torsten was behaving honorably by refusing to interfere in the fight, or if he was a coward trying to placate his men by throwing an innocent native to the wolves, but he hated the thought of involving Alexandra de Sardet in the matter. _It’s not my place to question the commander. He has the right to handle his men as he sees fit._

But Kurt’s nightmares over the past few days had not involved being roused from his bunk at midnight by a narrow-faced man with pale green eyes, or even the horrors of a battle he’d seen twenty years ago; instead, they had all featured the Coin Arena, being transfixed helplessly in the stands while a dead-eyed mercenary from Hikmet put a blade through Alexandra de Sardet’s heart. _I’ve seen her shot through the heart, skewered, trampled by wild beasts…_ Every time, he’d seen the fatal blow coming, while de Sardet remained unaware; every time, he’d been frozen in place, unable to move or speak. _Every time, I wake up just as it happens._ A pistol shot through the heart, a blade through the neck, a creature charging over her body, and then Kurt would wake, his heart racing, the cry he hadn’t been able to vocalize still caught in his throat.

“If something happens to her, he knows you won’t be happy, but he knows you won’t be able to do anything about it, either,” said Kurt. “She’s going in of her own free will, the same as any arena fighter. If she dies, his hands are clean, at least as far as your father is concerned.”

“He knows if something was to happen to her, he would have to deal with me,” said Constantin. “Commander Torsten knows the importance of the Congregation’s contract with the Coin Guard.”

“He knows you rely on him for protection. If something did happen, you couldn’t break the contract.”

“He’s right, Constantin,” de Sardet broke in. “If the worst does happen—”

“Don’t say that! Don’t even let the thought enter your mind. It will not happen,” Constantin insisted.

“If it did, you could not break the contract. Doing so would leave the Congregation entirely unprotected, both on Teer Fradee and the continent,” de Sardet finished. “You cannot do that.”

“I can,” Constantin insisted. “I would, if anything was to happen. Commander Torsten knows that. He knows what you mean to me.” He drew himself up. “Perhaps if I was to enter the arena with you—”

“No!” De Sardet and Kurt spoke at once; that led to de Sardet exchanging a brief, sympathetic glance with Kurt before she turned back to Constantin. “I do not believe that Commander Torsten would allow it. If anything were to happen to you, he knows he would have to take responsibility.”

“And, with you in the arena, the men would say that any victory was arranged for your benefit,” said Kurt. “They’ll never believe it was a fair fight.”

“Kurt is right,” de Sardet agreed. “I must win this fight alone, it seems. If I can do this, I will earn the hunter’s freedom, and perhaps avert what might otherwise become a political crisis.”

“Politics,” Constantin said, making a face. “I’d hoped we’d left all of that behind in Serene. Father’s intrigues, Mother’s plots…these corrupt guards should have stayed in Serene.” He leaned back on his throne. “How I wish I could join you! I would be glad to fight at your side, my lucky star.”

“I know you would. But I fear this is something I must do alone.”

“I only wish that I could join in your inevitable triumph. Alas, Lady de Morange tells me that I cannot even bear witness to your victory. It seems that my attendance would only inflame those among the Coin Guard who would take my very presence as a sign that the fight might be fixed.”

“I will send word as soon as the fight is over,” de Sardet promised. “Everything is in place; it will take place tomorrow evening.”

Kurt spent the rest of the day reviewing the battle plans he’d made, putting de Sardet through her paces and testing the hunter’s skill. He went with Alaric to look at the beasts: there were a pair of them, enormous creatures the arena master called _andrig_. _I hope the hunter can handle them._ He was counting on the hunter’s skill to down the beasts while de Sardet looked to the arena fighter.

Gaspard, the Coin Guard turned arena champion, was about Kurt’s age, perhaps a little younger. “I served ten years in the Coin Guard before I left,” he said. “Came with the Green-Azure to Hikmet not long after the city was founded, and spent the next eight years fighting the savages here. I’d seen war on the continent, fighting those priests and their magic, and thought there wouldn’t be any of that here.” He barked out a laugh. “Little did I know the savages had magic of their own.”

“At least there’s no malichor here.”

“If you’re done with the Guard, why agree to come here when the commander asked?”

“I’m done risking my life for the Coin Guard, but that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with what the commander says. Torsten came from the Green-Azure, did you know that? He’s been here since before they founded Hikmet. Started off as Major Torsten before they elected him commander of Teer Fradee. He’s got a lot of good ideas. The Guard ought to be better-treated; we shouldn’t put up with shit from nobles, and we shouldn’t have to risk our lives fighting the savages for those piss-distilling Bridgers or those light-worshiping priests.”

Gaspard folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll gladly knock a noble on her arse to bring some savage to justice for striking two fine soldiers of the Guard – all the more so because I’m being paid a fine purse to do it, but even without considering the money, I have to say I’ll enjoy it. It’s not often you get a chance to hit a noble without consequences.”

Kurt’s jaw clenched. _If only I could hit you without consequences._ “It’ll be my head if she loses hers,” he said. “Though I’d suspect the governor wouldn’t be pleased with you, either.”

“There’s nothing he can do to either of us. It’s an arena fight, and she’s made the decision to go in. If she happens to fall, well…” Gaspard shrugged. “That’s a hazard of the arena, now, isn’t it?”

Again, Kurt felt a wave of anger rising up in him along with frustration. _I want to make sure she’s protected. I want to keep her safe._ But he could see there would be no way of convincing the fighter to go easy on her.

“The nobles don’t care about us; there’s no reason you should care about her,” Gaspard told him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to prepare for the fight.” He eyed de Sardet: Kurt had her practicing with Vasco, but in front of Gaspard, he would only let her use her mace.

 _No magic here. I’m not about to let him see what she can do._ “I hope you’ll fight with honor,” Kurt told him.

Gaspard laughed. “The Guard’s motto. But tell me – how many men ever do?”

That didn’t give Kurt a great deal of confidence as he headed back to de Sardet, Vasco, and Lugh, the native hunter. He practiced with them for a little longer before they headed back to the legate’s house; Kurt wanted both de Sardet and Lugh to be fresh for the fight tomorrow, not over-tired or sore.

At the house, he examined her armor and weapons again and again, making sure there were no problems with her gear; she would wear a brown doublet of the sort many Coin Guard possessed, with the best gauntlets and boots she owned. _Better for her to look like one of the Guard, with the same gear that any of them would have._ Showing up in the armor of a Congregation noble would only have fueled the anti-nobility sentiment that Kurt suspected had been stoked by Egon’s men. _They may not like her magic, but they’ll see she fights with as much honor as any Coin Guard._

He’d hoped to find a helmet for her, but much to his chagrin, Alaric had said that helmets would not be allowed. “It’s all about putting on a show for the audience. They have to be able to see her face.”

That night, de Sardet retired early, but Kurt couldn’t sleep: de Sardet had a well-stocked array of healing, magic, and fury potions to see her through the fight, but he dug through his own trunk to find the best healing potions and resuscitation powder, placing them in his own gear.

Someone knocked on his door; he opened it, expecting to see Alexandra de Sardet, and was surprised to see Vasco. “Trouble sleeping?” Vasco asked. “I saw the light beneath your door.”

“I won’t be sleeping at all tonight,” Kurt admitted. “If I was the one going into battle, I’d have no trouble, but the thought of her going into that arena alone…”

“She’ll have that hunter at her side. He’s a fair fighter.”

“Fair, but not as good as I’d like.”

Vasco looked at the array of gear on Kurt’s bed: a roll of bandages, all the healing potions he’d been able to find, his own meager stock of resuscitation powder, an antidote for poison. “You know those animals aren’t venomous. I didn’t think this fighter from Hikmet was reputed to poison his blade.”

“He isn’t,” Kurt said, “but I’d rather be safe than sorry.” He’d spoken briefly with the fighter, a former Coin Guard from the Green-Azure Regiment who’d chosen not to sign a new contract once his ten years of service had ended; instead, he’d chosen to seek renown in the arena. “He sounded like he was looking forward to fighting a noble.”

“While you were practicing with de Sardet, I spoke to a few men in the arena. They say he’s been promised a hefty payday for his troubles. Given that he drank away his past victories, he sounds as if he’s in need of it.”

“It’s too bad he won’t take a bribe,” said Kurt.

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m surprised to hear you suggest it,” said Vasco. “It does not seem the honorable route.”

“None of this is honorable,” said Kurt. “Do you think that man will fight with honor? He might have been Coin Guard once, but he’s an arena fighter now. Half of them lost their honor when they left the Guard, and half of them never had any in the first place.”

“Are they all former Coin Guard, these arena fighters?”

“No. Some are men who’d turn to banditry if they thought they could make a profit. Others are men who are too afraid to join up; they think it’s safer fighting in an arena than on the battlefield. It probably is; usually, men in the Coin Arena don’t fight to the death.” Kurt’s expression darkened. “But I think this Gaspard will be willing to kill, and Green Blood won’t.”

“Have you tried to bribe him?”

“With what? His Highness won’t hear of it, and I don’t have enough money of my own to make it worth his while.” Kurt shook his head. “Not that he’d take it if I did. He was eager for the fight. He spent ten years serving in Hikmet, and you know how their relations with the natives are. He’s eager for the chance to kill a native – and he’s just as happy to fight a noble while he’s at it.” The ex-Coin Guard clearly bore a hatred of the nobles he’d served; even in their brief conversation, his resentment had been palpable.

“Do you think that’s why Torsten chose him to face them?”

“I don’t know that the commander chose him personally,” Kurt said, startled by the suggestion, and bothered that he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. “I’m no good with politicking, and I can’t help but think there’s more going on here than I know about. I feel like Torsten wants this fight to happen, but I couldn’t tell you why.”

“As you said, it gives him the chance to please his men,” said Vasco. “And is it possible that your commander truly does disdain nobles? If he dislikes them, then he may want to see de Sardet get showed up in the arena – humiliated, I mean, not killed.”

“It’s possible,” Kurt said. “Like I said, Torsten has a reputation as a populist. He talks a lot about how nobles are happy to hire Coin Guard to die, but don’t give a damn about any of us.” He paused. “The man has a point, you know. Most of the time, we sign a contract, and in exchange we get used as cannon fodder. We agree to risk life and limb for people who don’t see us as people. Though there are exceptions.”

“Like de Sardet.”

Kurt nodded. “Like her.”

“You wouldn’t care half as much about what happens to her if she didn’t care so much about you.” Vasco gestured toward the array of potions, bandages, and first aid equipment on Kurt’s bed. “She would do the same for you if your places were reversed. From my experiences with nobility, you couldn’t say that of very many of them.”

“None,” Kurt agreed. “Constantin wouldn’t, that’s for sure. Green Blood is unique.” His expression softened for a moment, until he felt the cold clench of fear around his heart. “If something happens to her tomorrow, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It’s a fight she chose.”

“She shouldn’t have had to. It should be me fighting in that arena. She doesn’t belong there.” Kurt paused. “If something does happen tomorrow…” He looked at the spread of equipment on the bed. “We’ll have front-row seats. I’ve already arranged that with Alaric. If she falls, I plan on going in to get her.”

“Then you’ll need someone to fend off this Gaspard and the beasts while you get her out,” said Vasco. “I’ll help you.” 

“That’ll be dangerous, sailor,” said Kurt. “Gaspard’s a good fighter. Alaric told me his record. He was part of a team of three that faced one of those island monsters…a great tentacled thing that spewed clouds of poison, he said. He was the only one to survive, but he lived, and the creature didn’t.”

“I’ll help you,” Vasco repeated.

“Do you want to be the one to get her out of there? You’re quicker than I am, and it would be safer.”

“De Sardet is taller than I am,” Vasco pointed out. “If she’s wounded, you should be the one to lift and carry her. You’ll be faster than I could be…and I suspect you have more training than I do in battlefield medicine.”

“I’m no medic, but I’ve sewed up my own wounds,” Kurt said.

“Then you should definitely be the one to retrieve her, if it should come to that. I have no training at all in medical matters, and no skill. I leave all of that to my ship’s doctor.” Vasco paused. “Besides, won’t you be getting yourself into trouble with your commander, leaping into the arena to fight?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He tried not to think of his nightmare, of Gaspard’s blade slicing her unprotected throat. “If she falls…well, she’d do the same for me, like you said.”

“It seems to me that he might excuse you if all you do is save her life,” said Vasco. “Leaping into the arena to keep her from further harm…well, it could be explained as an overzealous guard doing his duty.”

“I have standing orders for her protection,” Kurt said, then grew quiet as he remembered Jeanne de Sardet. “I promised her mother I’d keep her safe.”

“And your commander might actually be relieved if she lives,” said Vasco. “I am sure that the death of the Prince d’Orsay’s niece is not something that Commander Torsten would wish to have to explain to his own superiors.”

“Superiors? His only superior is the commander-in-chief, back on the continent.”

“Even so. The Merchant Congregation may need its contract with the Coin Guard, but the Coin Guard placing the legate of the Congregation in a situation where she’s killed in an arena fight, unprotected by her own guard, well…I would think that Commander Torsten would want to avoid that,” said Vasco. “I’d think he’d forgive you for saving her. Not so much for fighting in her stead, especially after he ordered you not to enter the arena at her side.”

“I doubt he’ll forgive me. If I go in, I’m likely to end up court-martialed and stripped of rank. You can’t defy orders like that.”

“But you’ll do it anyway.”

“Of course I will. I hope I don’t have to, but if she goes down…what sort of man would I be if I stood by and did nothing?” Kurt stared at the array of supplies. “I only hope it doesn’t come to that. Green Blood can hold her own in a fight, but anything can happen in a battle. I’ve seen men who were better fighters than me go down. You can be the most skilled soldier in the world, but there’s always a measure of luck in a fight. All it takes is one slip of the foot, a dishonorable opponent throwing sand in your eyes, a jammed gun or a misfire, a moment’s distraction…”

“You’ve trained her well.” Vasco had sparred with de Sardet as part of the practice, since Gaspard used a similar fighting style. “I think she can hold her own.”

“I hope so.”

Vasco clapped Kurt on the shoulder. “Get some rest. Or try to. It’ll be better if your reflexes aren’t dulled tomorrow – just in case we do need to step in.”

“If we do, I’ll be as fast as I can. I’ll need enough cover to get in and out, that’s all.”

“So you want me to abandon the hunter to his fate?”

Kurt paused. “I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted. “When I made this plan, it was only me…and I planned on doing what I could to save Green Blood’s life. If you fight in her place, I don’t know what Torsten will do.”

“Or the rest of the arena? I’d wager that would be new. A mad, grounded Naut captain leaping into the fray. Nauts fight in the arena too sometimes, but they’re usually sailors on leave, serving as opponents for the regular teams of fighters.”

Kurt nodded; he’d seen such fights back in Serene. Sometimes, the arena had arranged for special combats, teams of Nauts against teams of Coin Guard; the Coin Guard had usually won, but the Nauts were well-paid for their trouble. _And the sailor’s a much better fighter than most of his friends._ “I’ll leave it up to you,” he said. “If you want to risk yourself for that native hunter, that’s your decision…but if Green Blood is hurt badly enough that she needs us to intervene, I won’t be able to fight with you.” He paused. “I do appreciate it. I didn’t expect you to make the offer.”

“Admiral Cabral has ordered me to give all possible assistance to the legate,” Vasco pointed out. “I’d assume that includes stepping in to save her life if I have to…and, since she clearly wants to defend this hunter, I’ll do that if I’m able.”

“I don’t think your admiral’s orders were meant to include something like this.”

“Any more than your orders to protect Legate de Sardet should include planning to rescue her from the arena, if it should prove necessary?”

“Green Blood’s my charge,” Kurt said. “I’ve protected her since she was ten…and, as you said, she’d do the same for me.”

Vasco paused. “If Constantin was fighting in her place, would you be planning to do the same for him?”

Kurt considered it. “Yes,” he said finally. “He might not be willing to do the same for me, but I’ve protected him since he was a kid. He’d jump into that arena not knowing what he was getting himself into, get in over his head, and it would be up to me to fish him out – and if I didn’t, Green Blood would be jumping in anyway.”

“It’s noble of her to be doing this,” said Vasco. “I mean that in the best sense of the word. I can’t imagine any other lord or lady I’ve ever met being willing to risk their life for a stranger, let alone an island native with no power or influence of their own.”

“She is truly noble,” Kurt agreed. “The very best.” _Which is why I have to keep her safe._

In the morning, he checked de Sardet’s armor and weapons again, though she wouldn’t change until afternoon, when they were to depart for the arena; she looked nervous, though not as nervous as Kurt felt. “Eat, but not too much,” he told her. “You want strength, but you can’t afford to be sluggish.”

He dressed in his doublet, Vasco in his captain’s coat; he noticed Vasco checking and double-checking his pistols and loading a few vials of poison into his coat. “Here’s to hoping we don’t have to use any of this,” Vasco muttered to him as Kurt felt his doublet pocket for the extra vials of healing potion and resuscitation powder.

“I’d drink to that,” Kurt told him.

“We’ll celebrate at the tavern tonight,” Vasco said.

“If Constantin will let us. I think he’ll want to hold the celebrations in the palace,” Kurt said. He knew the conversation was necessary to keep up de Sardet’s spirits; he didn’t want her to worry. _At least, not any more than she already is._ He knew that she didn’t share Constantin’s unrealistic optimism; she knew it would be a difficult fight.

By early afternoon, they made their way to the Coin Arena; Kurt spoke to Alaric, arranging a meeting with the hunter. It wasn’t their first meeting: with Vasco’s help, de Sardet had managed several conversations over the last few days, introducing herself and explaining that she had come on behalf of the man’s cousin. Vasco had a very limited grasp of Yecht Fradi, the natives’ tongue, and the hunter had very little Gacan, but together they had enough to understand each other.

 _The hunter’s given her some good pointers on the beasts they’re throwing against them._ Kurt had convinced Lieutenant Alaric to let him practice with the man, so he could judge his fighting skills. _He’s competent, but I’d rather fight with Green Blood or the sailor at my side._ That worried Kurt; he’d hoped that the hunter would be a better fighter. _At_ _least they’ve had a chance to train together_. That had enabled Kurt to devise a strategy for the fight, though he had told them both to keep it a secret; he hadn’t wanted any of the Coin Guard in the arena giving Gaspard a heads-up. _The plan is that Green Blood will freeze at least one of their opponents, to even the numbers, and then the hunter will take on the animals while she handles the fighter from Hikmet._

 _They say no plan for combat ever survives first contact with the enemy. Kurt could only hope that things would be different in the arena…or, if they were not, that he’d taught Alexandra de Sardet enough to fight and win. As long as she comes out of this alive and unwounded, I’ll be happy._ He could only hope he would be that lucky.


	32. Arena Fight

The final hours before the fight passed quickly: Kurt went over everything with them both once more, and de Sardet dressed in her armor. She had offered similar armor to the hunter, but he had refused, wanting to fight in the lighter, more flexible gear he was accustomed to.

_I can’t blame him for that, though I wish he’d practiced with Coin Guard steel,_ Kurt thought. Native weapons were not of good quality; even much of the Coin Guard gear, which was generally poor, outclassed them.

The audience for the arena began to assemble: it was a mixture of Coin Guard, gamblers, and local townspeople, apparently come out of curiosity to see the governor’s cousin in battle. Kurt noticed when Gaspard, the fighter from Hikmet, arrived. He wore a bandit’s hat of the sort that Kurt had abandoned in Serene, and spent most of his time checking his pistols and sword.

At last, Alaric approached. “So, are you ready to rise to the challenge?” Alaric asked.

“I am.” 

“Are you sure that this prisoner is worth you risking your life for?”

Kurt could see the agreement in Vasco’s eyes, and part of him couldn’t help but hope that de Sardet would reconsider – but as she responded, he couldn’t help but be proud of her. “This man has been the victim of terrible injustice. I cannot stand aside without doing anything.”

“That’s extremely noble of you!” Alaric eyed the gathering crowd, and Kurt saw the enthusiasm of an arena master counting his cut of the coin. “But it’s just the sort of crazy idea that the crowd loves! If you’re ready…”

“Justice cannot wait.”

“Excellent! In that case, the arena awaits you!” Alaric nodded to Kurt and Vasco. “Captain Kurt, Captain Vasco, if you’d take your places in the stands.”

Kurt looked to de Sardet. “You can do this, Green Blood.”

Vasco nodded. “Good luck, de Sardet.”

Kurt’s heart was in his throat as Alaric began his spiel. “Settle down,” the arena master called out, and Kurt understood why he’d been given his posting in the arena: Alaric easily shouted over the crowd, and the commanding tone in his voice made them settle down at once. “Ladies and gentlemen…as well as my fellow members of the Coin Guard…we have a very special treat for you today! A criminal sentenced to trial and possible execution, a native hunter charged with assaulting two members of the Coin Guard. This hunter,” he consulted his notes, “Lugh, son of Balor, will defend himself against both a pair of native beasts and against Gaspard the Incomparable.”

At the sound of Gaspard’s name, a cheer went up, and Alaric continued. “Yes, Gaspard, formerly Second Lieutenant Gaspard of the Green-Azure, now Gaspard the Incomparable.” Kurt couldn’t help a snort at the man’s fighting name; men fighting in teams often gave them a name like ‘The Brave Knights’ or ‘The Fearsome Fighters,’ and individual arena fighters sometimes followed suit, but Kurt had always thought the titles ridiculous. “Gaspard the Incomparable has won victories over men and beasts alike. As part of the Bloody Bandits, he is one of only a handful of men who has won all five challenges of the arena and survived to tell the tale…and was the only one of the Bandits to survive.”

“Usually, he only fights at the Coin Arena in Hikmet, but he has come here today to face Lugh in a trial by combat. Should this hunter prove victorious, he will be cleared of all charges and set free…and should he prove guilty, his death will be justice enough.”

“Ordinarily, the accused would fight alone, but Commander Torsten has agreed that he should be allowed a single defender.” Alaric gestured toward de Sardet, and Kurt heard him mutter, “Go on, declare yourself. Make a good show of it.”

De Sardet stepped forward and raised her head, looking out at the crowd. “I want to fight alongside the island hunter that was captured!”

That drew murmurs, though Kurt was sure that word had spread through the city in the days preceding the fight. _Rumor is one thing, and the governor’s cousin stepping forward to fight in the arena is quite another._ He didn’t want to think of what Jeanne de Sardet would think if word reached her that her daughter had fought in a Coin Arena. _It would be a scandal in and of itself…a fine lady of Serene stepping into the arena for a fight._ He couldn’t imagine another noblewoman in the Congregation doing so.

“Then may I present a very special challenger, Her Excellency, Lady Alexandra de Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation on Teer Fradee. Her Excellency is cousin to Governor d’Orsay, and is setting foot in the arena today for the very first time.”

Kurt’s heart was in his throat as de Sardet stepped forward. She looked very slight in her armor, and very vulnerable. “Remember what I told you,” he muttered to Vasco. “If she goes down—”

“I know.”

“And their opponents, Gaspard the Incomparable, along with two native beasts the natives call _andrig_!” Gaspard entered the arena, and a number of men dragged two cages to the entrances, blocking all exit: de Sardet and the hunter were trapped in the arena, along with Gaspard.

Gaspard did not seem concerned. “Time to put this noble in her place!” the fighter crowed, playing to the crowd. “I’ll put this savage down, and you’ll have justice for the guard he tried to murder – and then, I’ll teach this blue-blood to show us some respect!”

Kurt’s blood boiled. “I am sorry for everything that happened,” de Sardet shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the jeers of the crowd. “But this man does not deserve to die! He was only protecting his cousin!”

_His cousin,_ Kurt realized. _Damn me for a fool. I should have realized._ Alexandra de Sardet’s desire to help the hunter wasn’t only about her pursuit of justice or misguided guilt for not having obtained the patent sooner. _This hunter got himself into all this protecting his cousin. She’d do anything to protect Constantin. I’d wager she sees herself in him._

“Ready…and fight!”

With that, the handlers opened the cages, the _andrig_ charged, and everything erupted into a furor of combat. Kurt saw de Sardet move instantly: she froze one of the beasts, but before the hunter could charge the other, he saw Gaspard raise his pistol.

De Sardet saw it too: instead of freezing the second _andrig_ , she flung a burst of magic at Gaspard, knocking him down before he could fire. He fell, and as he did so, he tried to fire a second shot at point-blank range; thankfully, it went astray, and de Sardet closed range.

_He’s a damn good fighter,_ Kurt thought, seeing Gaspard holster his pistol as he got to his feet, drawing his blade smoothly with his off hand. Both de Sardet and Gaspard had to dodge as one of the _andrig_ charged them, and Gaspard recovered more quickly; he sliced a cut that de Sardet only narrowly avoided.

Meanwhile, the native hunter was dealing with the other _andrig_ ; he was good with the animal, Kurt noticed, far more comfortable fighting the _andrig_ than he had been with a human opponent.

“Careful, Green Blood!” he called out as the second _andrig_ circled and charged again; she heard, and dodged, but Gaspard closed range, and she only narrowly blocked with a magical shield. She flung another burst of magic, but Kurt knew that she would tire soon. _Use your adrenaline,_ he wanted to say. _Let your anger carry you through._ That would help her until she could drink a magic-replenishing potion, or until she could recover naturally.

The hunter finished off the first _andrig_ , and turned to close range on the second. But Gaspard saw, and clearly decided that he couldn’t be allowed to do so: turning, he charged the hunter, forcing the man to attempt a parry. That gave de Sardet time to uncork and drink her magic potion, but in doing so, she only narrowly missed being struck by the second _andrig_ ’s charge; Kurt thought he saw it deliver a glancing blow to her arm, sending her off-balance. _I only hope she didn’t break anything._ He saw her wince in pain, and felt a jolt of fear shoot through him.

“No!” she cried out, and Kurt looked back to the fight between Lugh and Gaspard: Gaspard clearly had the upper hand, and Lugh was already bleeding from two wounds, a scratch on his thigh and a deeper cut on his arm.

_A third stroke might well finish him off,_ he thought. De Sardet knew it too: she flung a furious burst of magic at the _andrig_ , then froze Gaspard in place. _A man like that will be trained in breaking stasis spells._ He’d told de Sardet that, too. _She can’t afford to waste any time; he’ll be back up and moving within seconds._

“Get back!” she called to the hunter; he retreated gratefully, moving behind her, as if he expected her to protect him from both Gaspard and the wounded _andrig_. As he did, the _andrig_ charged, just as Gaspard broke free of the spell; he lunged forward, and once more, de Sardet only barely managed to deflect.

“ _On ol menawi_!” the hunter cried out. “The _andrig_! Look out!”

De Sardet whirled, and Kurt thought he was about to see a scene from his nightmare: the _andrig_ reared, and Kurt feared its razor-sharp hooves would cut her. Next to him, he saw Vasco lean forward in his seat, and he tensed, preparing himself to jump into the fray.

But the hunter came through: he charged the beast, forcing it to turn its attention to him. Gaspard tried to advance, but de Sardet mustered a burst of adrenaline, striking him squarely in the chest with a burst of shadow magic; he hit the ground hard, flat on his back.

The _andrig_ saw the motion and turned; it was wounded, likely dying, but prepared another charge – one that would have taken it directly across Gaspard’s midsection.

_He’ll be trampled to death,_ Kurt thought. The shock of the impact had stunned the fighter, and Kurt knew that the man would never be able to get to his feet in time to avoid the charge, or even summon the strength to roll out of the way. It would certainly be an ugly death, crushed beneath the weight of an animal weighing hundreds of pounds, but Kurt could only be glad that it was not Alexandra de Sardet who would be trampled beneath its hooves.

“No,” Gaspard wheezed; he’d managed to lift his head enough to see the enraged and dying animal focusing on him, but the weight of his armor, the severity of his injuries, and the force of de Sardet’s spell had all taken their toll: he couldn’t move out of the way in time, and he knew it.

De Sardet saw it too. _She can let it trample him, and that will end the fight._ The animal’s attention was focused on the wounded fighter, and it was dying anyway. All de Sardet had to do was wait: first, the _andrig_ would trample Gaspard to death; then, she could finish it off with ease, saving the hunter’s life while ending the danger to her own. 

But de Sardet did no such thing. Instead, she flung out her hands, casting a stasis spell; Kurt had fought with her enough to see that she was using the last of her reserves. The _andrig_ froze in place, and Lugh advanced, the wounded hunter moving to finish off the wounded beast.

As soon as he realized what she was doing, Kurt’s gaze moved to Gaspard. The fighter had been struggling to get up: he’d seen the beast coming, and knew it would be his death. Even now, his eyes were wide with fear, and Kurt saw there was a wet spot spreading across his trousers. _He doesn’t know._ But then, the beast froze mid-charge, and Gaspard’s expression changed from confusion to disbelief to comprehension in the space of a few heartbeats.

The _andrig_ cried out as the hunter finished it, striking cleanly into the heart. De Sardet glanced at it before returning her attention to Gaspard, reaching into her doublet for another potion, but it wasn’t necessary.

“That’s enough!” Gaspard called out, sitting up. “I surrender! Mercy!” As if to make his point, he flopped back onto his back, spreading his arms in defeat.

“I thought this was a fight to the death,” Vasco muttered.

“For the animals, and for that hunter,” said Kurt. “Not for Green Blood or the fighter – not necessarily, at least. Men wouldn’t risk their lives in the arena if the fight was to the death; they have to be able to surrender.”

The hunter looked at Gaspard with anger in his eyes, but before he could advance, de Sardet moved forward. “I accept your surrender,” she called out, then looked to Alaric. “If that is permitted.”

Alaric nodded, and the crowd’s cheers when de Sardet extended a hand to the fallen fighter were overwhelming.

“I don’t understand,” said Vasco. “First they jeer her when she steps forward to defend that hunter, and now they applaud her for winning his freedom?”

“That’s not why they’re cheering.”

“Then why?”

“Because she saved Gaspard’s life. She could have let him die,” said Kurt. “That beast would have trampled his guts into the ground. That’s a nasty way to die, any way you look at it. Gaspard’s former Coin Guard, and a popular fighter with the men. By casting that stasis spell when she did, Green Blood just saved him…and she did so not knowing if he’d decide to continue the fight.”

“After she saved his life? Do you think he’d be that ungrateful?”

“Some men might be,” Kurt said. “The arena doesn’t always attract honorable men. Fortunately, Gaspard’s a better sort than I gave him credit for.” He looked around at the crowd, who were still cheering wildly as de Sardet helped Gaspard to his feet.

When she offered him a healing potion, the cheers grew deafening. “Wouldn’t the arena give him one of those anyway?” Vasco asked. “They have medics here, don’t they?”

Kurt laughed. “The medics would tend him, but they don’t hand out healing potions. Not for free, anyway. It would come out of his winnings – or, in this case, his pay.” While most fights only paid the winner, Alaric had told Kurt that Commander Torsten had agreed to pay Gaspard for coming to New Serene to fight. “She’s just saved him a pretty penny. I’m sure he’s doubly thankful.”

As they watched, de Sardet handed a second potion to Lugh, making sure that both the arena fighter and the native hunter drank before she took one for herself. “I’m sure she doesn’t realize it, but she’s doing more to make herself popular with the crowd every minute,” Kurt said. “Deeds are what matter to the Guard, not words, and everything she’s done today proves that those coin-carrying bastards are all filthy liars.” 

“She’s showing that she might be a noble, but she does value the lives of ordinary people…native and Coin Guard alike,” said Vasco, nodding.

“Exactly. She was willing to risk her own life to protect that hunter – and again, to protect an arena fighter.”

“An arena fighter who was trying to kill her, at that. That’s more than I would have done in her place.”

“An arena fighter who thought he was doing his duty, and avenging a comrade who was badly wounded by that hunter,” Kurt replied. “To Gaspard, he was standing up for a fellow member of the Guard – not that I agree with him, of course, but his intentions were honorable.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that would have mattered much to you if he’d killed her,” Vasco replied, and Kurt knew he was right.

_If anything had happened to her…_ Kurt pushed aside the thought as he rose from his seat; Vasco followed him. Pushing their way through the crowd, they went to the base of the platform; Gaspard had been ushered away for examination by one of the arena medics, but de Sardet and Lugh stood together in front of the crowd.

“What a show! You’ve won the affections of the crowd!” Alaric grinned at the hunter. “And when the crowd makes a decision, it gets what it wants. You’re free, prisoner!”

Even that brought cheers: apparently, de Sardet’s popularity extended to the man she had helped. _He fought well enough,_ Kurt thought. The Coin Guard wouldn’t appreciate de Sardet’s skill with magic; most Coin Guard believed magic was less honorable than swords or even pistols. _After all, a man wielding a rifle can’t freeze you in place before stabbing you in the back._ The idea of being frozen on the battlefield, helpless, terrified most soldiers, particularly as the spell could be cast from a distance and could not be countered or blocked by armor. _Even a bullet might not get through your armor – but a spell, that’s something else._

Before training Alexandra de Sardet, Kurt had shared the soldiers’ disdain for magic and magic-users; even after her uncle had insisted on giving her a tutor for combat magic, Kurt had insisted that she learn how to use both guns and blades. _But I can’t say that anyone who uses magic lacks honor, because Green Blood has more honor than most Coin Guard._

As he made his way closer to de Sardet and the native hunter, Kurt heard them speaking. “You are safe,” de Sardet was saying. “You are free.”

“I owe you my life, _on ol menawi,_ ” Lugh replied. “Blessed be the winds that have blown you to my side.”

“Let’s go find your cousin.” She grimaced as she saw Lugh clutching at his side. “Or perhaps we ought to find a medic for you first. Was the healing potion not enough?”

“I will be fine.”

“No,” de Sardet said, shaking her head. “Medic,” she called out. “Medic!” One of Alaric’s subordinates came forward. “Lugh is unwell. Please, take him to the medic and let them treat him. He does not speak much Gacan, but please, explain everything you do before you do it. I do not want any further misunderstandings.” She placed a hand on Lugh’s arm. “Please, go with him. He will help. Trust me. No one will hurt you now.”

“We’ll see to his wounds,” the recruit promised. “I’ll fetch Freda. She used to serve with the sixth before she transferred to the arena, and I know that she still deals with some of the native hunters when we need animals for the fights. She’ll translate, if need be.”

“Thank you,” de Sardet told him.

As Lugh and the recruit moved off, Kurt and Vasco approached. “Green Blood!” Kurt called out. “You did well!”

“Congratulations, de Sardet,” Vasco said. “It was a fine fight.”

“And one that made you a fine bit of coin,” Alaric said.

De Sardet’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The last time Captain Kurt visited, I asked him how confident he was in your ability to win. After all, Your Excellency, you were not favored to win this fight.”

“I was not?”

“No one told you the odds? There were a number of different bets the arena was offering: whether or not you’d win and save the hunter, if you’d kill the native beast but not defeat Gaspard, if you’d defeat Gaspard but not the native beast, if you’d make it out alive but without the hunter, whether Gaspard would kill you or if you’d surrender, whether you’d kill Gaspard or if he’d surrender, whether you or the hunter would make the kill for the beast and for Gaspard…all the usual sorts of bets.”

“I asked Captain Kurt what he thought, and he told me you’d win it all, just as you did – even that you’d try to get Gaspard’s surrender, if you could.” Alaric grinned. “I must admit, Your Excellency, I had my doubts. I asked him if he’d care to put his money where his mouth was.”

“I’m not usually the sort to visit the arena or make wagers,” said Kurt, “but I wasn’t about to let him think that I wasn’t confident in your ability to win.” Truth be told, the size of Kurt’s wager hadn’t matched his confidence: the amount he’d laid down would have been trifling for a noble, but was, for him, a fairly sizable sum.

“I can’t bet on the arena fights myself, but I must admit, I wouldn’t have made that bet,” said Alaric. “But given the odds that you’d have Gaspard surrender instead of killing him outright, your captain’s just earned himself quite the pretty penny. Most of the men were betting that if you could get the upper hand, you’d kill him without blinking.”

De Sardet looked hurt. “I would never do such a thing. Why would they say that?” 

Lieutenant Alaric had the grace to look uncomfortable. “The rumors had it that you had killed an entire patrol, including Lieutenant Aldo. You know what the men have been saying about it.”

“We only killed those guards because they attacked us,” said de Sardet, outraged. “They were preparing to murder a merchant when we intervened. I tried to place them under arrest, but they refused.”

“Said they’d prefer death by the sword to death by hanging,” Kurt said.

“They were true members of the Guard in that, at least,” said Alaric. He glanced over at Gaspard, who was being attended by the medics. “You’ve proved those guards to be liars, Your Excellency. You fought honorably and well, and saving Gaspard, well—he’s one of the most popular fighters in the Coin Arena at Hikmet. Most anyone who comes to the arena fights knows who he is.”

“I wish I’d thought to place a bet,” Vasco said. “I don’t often visit the arena, but sometimes my crew insists. Lauro loves the fights. If I’d thought to place a wager—”

“Would you have bet on me?”

“A man never bets against his superior officer.”

Kurt thought de Sardet looked a little hurt. “But did you think I would win?”

“I saw you take on that creature in Serene and win,” Vasco replied. “After that, who would doubt you?”

That drew a smile from de Sardet. “Just as Constantin said. Do you think that he placed a bet?”

“If his advisors let him,” said Kurt. “You know he would’ve been here today if he could have, Green Blood.”

Vasco nodded his agreement. “I doubt that it would have been politic for the governor to place a wager on such a politically charged fight…even if we both know he would have bet on you.”

“He’d have put a ridiculous amount of money on you winning everything, Green Blood,” Kurt added. “You know how he is. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d wagered the palace.”

“I would not have expected you to place a wager,” de Sardet said. "But you bet on me!" 

“Quite the sum, too,” Alaric piped up. “Well, for a captain of the Coin Guard. For a noble of the Congregation, it wouldn’t be much.” He looked to Kurt. “I’ll have your winnings delivered to the legate’s house.”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Kurt.

“And as for you, Your Excellency, you’ve won the favor of the crowd and that native’s freedom! If you’d ever like to return to the arena, you can assemble yourself a team and take on the challenges. You only need two others.” His gaze fell upon Vasco and Kurt. “Captain Kurt of the Coin Guard, Captain Vasco of the Nauts, and Lady de Sardet, the legate of the Merchant Congregation. You could be the Captains’ Captain…the Noble Warriors…Lady de Sardet and the Excellencies,” Alaric suggested, trying out names as he went.

The last made Kurt laugh. “The Excellencies?”

To his surprise, Alaric clapped his hands together. “Yes, that would be perfect! Legate de Sardet and the Excellencies.”

“The legate’s the only excellency among us,” Kurt pointed out. “The sailor and I are hardly nobles.”

“Yes, but everyone knows she is, and that’s what counts,” said Alaric. “A noblewoman of the Congregation choosing to set foot inside the arena, taking on the same challenges as any arena fighter! If you want to make yourself popular, Your Excellency, that’s the way to do it. You’ve already proved you’re not above taking on a fight; now, you could show you’re a true champion.”

“It would make you even more popular among the men. Take the same challenges for the same reward. Prove you don’t disdain us lowly soldiers.”

Kurt had expected de Sardet to dismiss him out of hand, but instead, she promised, “I’ll consider it.”

“Stop by any time, Your Excellency. I’ll always have room for you on the slate.”

“Because the promise of the governor’s cousin fighting in the arena is enough to ensure your stands are packed and the betting fierce, is that it?” Vasco asked.

“The governor’s cousin, a fine noble lady…that’s part of it, yes,” Alaric admitted. “But the other half is that she’s made herself a hero to the crowd. I’ve never seen opinion turn so fast. Saving Gaspard’s life, insisting on mercy…Manfred’s been insisting on the truth of what really happened with those guards, but your actions today showed everyone the truth of it, Your Excellency, and now that people have realized you’re a noble who’s willing to risk her own life to save a common hunter – a savage hunter at that – and to stop corruption within the Guard, well…you could be the most popular fighter this arena has ever seen.”

“As for the others, the novelty of it…two captains, one of the Nauts and one of the Coin Guard, fighting together…and fighters who were Coin Guard are always popular with the men, one who’s the captain of the guard at the palace would be even better.”

“And you need me to round out the trio,” said Vasco.

“You look as if you’d fight with a flourish,” said Alaric. “You could make things interesting. The fine noble lady, the honorable captain, and the colorful Naut.”

Vasco was bemused. “You look as if you’re counting the coin already.”

“I am a Coin Guard, after all!” Alaric laughed. “The amount we’ve made today…well, my superiors should be very pleased. Consider my offer, Your Excellency. If you’d come back to the arena, you’d make yourself even more popular with the men.”

As the arena master moved away, de Sardet smiled at Kurt. “You bet on me.”

“What, did you think I was going to bet against you?”

“I didn’t think of you betting at all. But…” De Sardet couldn’t stop smiling. “You did everything you could to convince me not to fight, but you bet on me to win.”

“He never doubted you, I’m sure,” Vasco said dryly, and Kurt knew he was thinking of the potions he’d laid out on his bed the night before, and the plans he’d made to leap into the arena if she fell.

“I know better,” de Sardet said, then turned to Kurt. “You were worried sick. You were so strict, putting me through my paces when we practiced together; I don’t think we’ve trained that hard since before we left Serene.”

“I did not like the thought of putting you in that arena alone,” said Kurt. “Even with that hunter…well, you can see that he was more help with that animal than he was with Gaspard. But I’m glad I worried for nothing! You really have proved your skill.”

“I learned from the best,” she replied.

“That would mean more if your magic hadn’t won the day for you. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“You did,” de Sardet insisted. “How to conserve my strength, how to dodge an attack, how to anticipate my opponent…I may use magic as my weapon, but you taught me how to fight.”

“Are you all right? Were you wounded?”

“Not badly. The healing potion should take care of everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s no need to worry,” she reassured him. “I’m fine, truly.”

“I’m glad.”

“He was ready to jump into the arena with you,” said Vasco.

“Only if something had happened. If the battle was lost and you were hurt…say, in the position that Gaspard was in when you saved him…”

“I’m glad it did not come to that. I was afraid my spell would not hold long enough for Lugh to kill that _andrig_.”

“Speaking of Lugh,” said Vasco, as a medic led the hunter back to them.

They led Lugh to his cousin; both men thanked her profusely, and de Sardet apologized once more for the actions of the Coin Guard. The merchant insisted that de Sardet should go to his village, Vignamri, to receive the thanks of his chief, a man named Ullan. “He wants to be friends with the _renaigse_. Since you are a legate, you could talk to him?”

“I will,” de Sardet promised. “I cannot go now; I have only just arrived in New Serene, and have duties to attend to before I go into the wilderness. But I will seek him out, I promise, and I hope that we will become good friends indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The arena quest framing is altered a bit here because gameplay vs. narrative: why would de Sardet enter the arena alone to fight, why wouldn't Constantin be able to order the hunter's release, and why would the niece of the Prince d'Orsay eventually end up fighting with a team in the Coin Arena? Hopefully, this helps resolve that (and gets Torsten on-screen a little sooner.)


	33. A Name for a Family

Vasco accompanied de Sardet and Kurt back to the palace, where Constantin was waiting. Word of the fight’s outcome had preceded them, and Constantin was ebullient, eager to congratulate his cousin and effusive in his happiness.

“My dear cousin! I congratulate you on your victory. I knew you could defeat any opponent! If only I could have witnessed your triumph. Alas, my advisors practically forbade my attendance.”

Constantin had not even bet on the match; he reacted with consternation when de Sardet spoke of Kurt’s winnings. “Maybe now he can afford to buy himself some new shirts,” he said snidely; Vasco saw Kurt’s stiffened shoulders and de Sardet’s frown, but Constantin did not seem to notice.

 _He can be petulant when he’s upset,_ Vasco thought. He knew Constantin well enough to know that his frustration often expressed itself by way of remarks like that one: flippant insults or casual comments that Constantin soon forgot, having meant nothing by them, but that others might remember.

“I hear you may accept the arena master’s challenges. I hope you do! Can you imagine how great a scandal it would have caused in Serene had either of us done so? I wish I could join you now. We could enter as a team!”

“Constantin—”

“I know, I know, I cannot risk myself. But I am certain is it not that great a risk. And even my advisors admit that we ought to do what we can to improve relations with the Coin Guard, especially if we are to conduct an investigation on corruption within their ranks. If you were to make an appearance at those arena fights…perhaps once a month, or as often as you are able…”

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You want your cousin, the sailor, and me to enter the arena as a team of fighters?”

“Yes!” Constantin clapped his hands together. “I would be delighted to see you fight. If you are with her, you can have no objection; I am sure you’ll keep her safe. And I would love to attend!” His gaze moved back to de Sardet. “As I missed the honor of your first triumph, I must have the chance to witness another. I insist.” 

“Constantin, we cannot impose upon Captain Vasco – or Kurt, for that matter.”

“Kurt will do whatever you command. You can’t impose on someone who has to follow your orders. As for Captain Vasco…I’m sure you won’t mind, will you, Captain?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” de Sardet said. “Either of you.”

“If you’re going into that arena, so am I,” Kurt replied. Vasco could see what he was thinking, and knew both Alexandra de Sardet and Constantin d’Orsay well enough to understand why: Constantin seemed set on the idea of seeing his cousin the victor of the arena, and Alexandra would not refuse.

 _She’ll do whatever he asks, however unreasonable. She may try to persuade him to change his mind, but she won’t defy him outright; when it comes to it, she’ll give in._ Where Constantin led, she would follow. _As my commanding officer, I have to follow her lead._ Vasco already knew Kurt would do so; he was a Coin Guard, and as Constantin had tactlessly but correctly pointed out, he was bound to obey. Which was how de Sardet, Kurt, and Vasco ended up fighting in the arena as “Legate de Sardet and the Excellencies,” a title that made Kurt snort with derision, but that left Vasco feeling uneasy.

 _The Excellencies,_ he thought after their first victory, an easy win over a few other teams without any real skill. _Am I an Excellency – or was I, before my family gave me away?_

The question tore at him. _On my ship, I always had one duty or another to occupy me, or my crew to worry about._ Ashore, he felt unmoored, with nothing to do but contemplate the life he might have lived. _Who am I? Was I born a noble like de Sardet? Who were my parents? Did I have a cousin? Siblings? Aunts and uncles?_

Days passed, and he found himself dwelling on it, falling into an ever-darker mood. There was little for him to do, and he could not stop thinking about it. _Why did Admiral Cabral cast me ashore? Why give my ship to Ruben? He’s sea-born; did she think him more trustworthy?_ Mercedes Cabral was also sea-born, and while Vasco had always thought her fairer and more open-minded than most of her compatriots, now he found himself having second thoughts. _Why would she take everything from me? My crew, my ship…she’s left me my rank, but I can hardly be a captain while I’m so far from the sea. A captain without a ship has a meaningless title and nothing else. I’m a Naut left with naught._

De Sardet and Kurt both had ordinary duties to attend to; Vasco had none. _Is this the life the admiral wants me to lead? She must know the truth about my past. Does she know I was once a nobleman of the Congregation? Does she want me to return to them?_ He kept returning to another question: _Is this the life I want to lead?_ Vasco loved the sea, and had always loved being aboard a ship, but now he found himself wondering about the life he might have known. _I’ve always wondered. I’ve always wanted to know about the parents who traded me to the Nauts for a contract, about the name I was given, the family I had. I’ve always wondered what it would have been like to be a merchant-prince swaddled in silk, a fine lord who dines off gold and silver plate._ Vasco had always told himself he would wait to make fleet commander to learn the truth, but that seemed impossible now. _Yet the truth is so close._ His file was kept in the harbor office of New Serene, under lock and key, along with the personnel file of every Naut stationed out of the port. _All my answers are in that file._

He tried to figure out how he might get into the office to retrieve the file, but knew that was impossible. _There has to be a way. I have to learn the truth. I need that file._ But, try as he might, he could think of only one way to get it, and for that, he would need de Sardet’s help. Part of him was uncomfortable with the idea, even now, but he knew he had no choice. _Not if I want to learn the truth._ Since being cast ashore, the idea had begun to gnaw at him: aboard the _Sea Horse_ , there had always been some matter of ship’s business to distract him, a repair to be attended to or a matter among the crew to be handled.

_And when all else failed, I could look out at the sea and hope the sight soothed my heart._ The rise and fall of the waves, the endless water leading to the open horizon, the wide blue sky above: Vasco had always taken comfort in the ocean’s depths. Ashore, there was no business to be handled save de Sardet’s, and de Sardet was competent enough not to need his aid. _Not that I’m qualified to give it._ He had helped them enter the warehouses to mark the Coin Guard’s smuggled crates, and some part of him had felt some small satisfaction in helping Kurt and de Sardet break into the warehouses, but since that petty revenge, he’d been of no use.

That mission was where the thought had first occurred to him: Kurt had told de Sardet that they should preserve their disguises, since they might need to break into the harbor office on another occasion, and Vasco had thought of his file. _I knew I could not get it, but de Sardet might. Disguised as a Naut, if she were to be discreet, if she could somehow get past the harbor office guards…_

He’d put the thought aside then, but the days and weeks that had passed since then had given him little else to do but think about it. _I feel useless here. Obtaining trade permits, meeting with ministers and nobles to receive reports about the island, helping to end the extortion of the city’s merchants…I may have helped defend de Sardet when those guards attacked, but I did nothing to help convince those men to talk, or to persuade the one to help us lure the guards into a trap. That was all her._ Spending time with de Sardet had made him reconsider his initial hostility: even with his opinions colored by resentment, he had to admit that she was thoughtful, kind, and ever-willing to help. As with Jonas, the person needing help didn’t have to be of noble status or anyone important: she’d jumped at the chance to help the town’s merchants, the native merchant, and the Coin Guard alike, though in the last instance, he thought that she might not have agreed to help had it not been Kurt who needed it.

 _She truly cares,_ Vasco thought. Alexandra de Sardet was compassionate, diligent in her duties, and effective. _If she were a Naut, she’d make a fine captain._ Yet a small part of him still balked at the idea. _She’s not a Naut; she’s a noble._ That part of him was still the part that felt a twinge of jealousy every time he looked at her, thinking of how she’d grown up living a life of ease, given every luxury by a mother who’d doted on her.

 _Don’t be foolish,_ he told himself. _She’s the only one who can help you. You need an outsider to do this; no Naut would scuttle their own ship to help one that’s already run aground. If Admiral Cabral finds out what I’m doing, I’m like to lose everything, and any Naut who helped me would likely be cashiered from the service – but there’s nothing she can do to de Sardet, at least not without causing an incident with our Congregation allies._

Vasco stewed on the matter for days, while de Sardet pored over diplomatic documents, dined with Constantin, and trained with Kurt. _Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of the life I might have led…if indeed I was a noble, as I suspect._ He knew he was from the Congregation; he knew that a number of noble children had been traded around the same time, which suggested a nation-wide arrangement he’d never been able to learn more about. _Everything from that time is shrouded in secrecy._ The answers, he knew, would be in his file in the harbor master’s office. It contained his birth name, the identity of his birth family, the reason he’d been donated, and the provisions of that arrangement, along with the details of his service career: all the ships he’d been stationed on, the captains he’d been stationed under, the commendations and reprimands he’d received, the tattoos he’d earned.

 _I have to know. What if I have family living?_ Every Naut knew that the land-dwelling families who gave their children away surrendered all claim to them when they were donated, and that they treated those children as if they’d died. _Growing up, every sea-given child asked about their family…usually about the time that they realized the sea-born had families of their own, even if it was only a father or mother who visited any time they were in port, or another child where the familial resemblance made it clear they were siblings, even if they had no family name to confirm the suspicion._ While Vasco knew that they might well be right, he couldn’t help but harbor a hope that his people had lied to him, and that he had a family who would welcome him with open arms.

 _The Fontaines regretted giving their son to the Nauts. They were glad to have him back. What if I have family who would welcome me home?_ Vasco knew how different the circumstances might be: Jonas had been a boy of fifteen, with no tattoos, the only child of a family that had plenty of money but lacked an heir. _I’m a grown man of twenty-four, and my family likely has other children._ It was unusual for a family to donate their only child, and Vasco suspected that he would find he had at least one brother. _De Courcillon told de Sardet that the Fontaines had another son, but he died of a childhood illness a few years after Jonas’s donation, and they were never able to conceive another._

Rationally, he knew his family would likely reject him: they had likely considered him dead to them as soon as he’d been given to the Nauts, and a noble family would have little to do with a Naut captain whose face and body were covered in tattoos, and whose life and upbringing had so little in common with theirs. But some part of him couldn’t help but hope that he might discover a family that was willing to love and accept him, who would be glad that their lost son had returned.

 _Someone like de Sardet._ The thought startled him. _She’s not what I expected…nothing like the other nobles I’ve met._ While Vasco had seen her aboard ship, part of him had expected her demeanor to change once ashore. _Plenty of nobles are happy to act a part while at sea, out of sight of their peers, but change when others are watching._ De Sardet wasn’t like that: she was as friendly as she’d been aboard the _Sea Horse_ , treating both Kurt and Vasco like her equals, not her servants. _If I have a sibling who’s at all like her, I might stand a chance._

Vasco knew how unlikely that was, but as the days wore on, he found that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. _My file has the answers. This might be the only time I’ll have to see it…and if I want to see it, I’ll need de Sardet’s help. I can’t go wandering around the harbor office myself._

After dinner that night, he approached her. “I have a favor to ask,” he said.

“Very well, I’m listening.”

“Do you remember the story of Jonas?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m like him, a donation to the Sea. My family also gave me to the Nauts. I don’t know anything about my real family, except they are probably affluent and from the Congregation. When I was born, the Nauts and the merchant princes had a…complex relationship.” All his investigations into his heritage had led to veiled talk from those old enough to remember, talk of a breach in the alliance and a subsequent repair. From what Vasco had gathered, his donation might well have been part of that repair, though he’d never been able to learn precisely what had caused the rupture in the first place. “I must have been used to settle a debt or forge a truce. But that doesn’t matter.”

“The mystery of my origins has now become an obsession. I need to know where I come from.” He sighed. “If I were patient enough, I’d wait to become a fleet commander, and then I would be told. But, since being laid off, such a promotion seems somewhat improbable...”

“…and you want me to help you find this information?” de Sardet supplied. She had been listening patiently, with obvious sympathy, the same way she’d listened to the frightened merchants and the distraught native. 

“You understand correctly. The records of all seaman stationed on the island are in their respective ports. Mine must be in the harbor office in New Serene, and it must contain my family name. But if I go there, I’ll be spotted immediately. Could you go there and bring the file to me?”

“Of course,” said de Sardet; she spoke without hesitation, and Vasco couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for his lingering resentment. “But you will have to go with me to the port and tell me a little more.”

“Right,” he said, still taken aback. “Also, I don’t want any Nauts to be hurt in the process. Despite my desire to know my origins, the Nauts are still my family.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet,” de Sardet reassured him. “I would not harm anyone.”

Vasco felt a little silly for said it; de Sardet was hardly the sort to reach for her weapon at a moment’s notice, and he’d heard Constantin’s tale of his kidnapping often enough to know that she wasn’t the sort to charge in with a spell at the ready even if there was good reason, let alone when there wasn’t.

 _Better safe than sorry,_ he thought. Kurt would undoubtedly be following in her shadow, and he knew that the Coin Guard was somewhat overprotective. _She might not hurt anyone if they get caught, but if one of the harbor office guards threatened her, I wouldn’t put it past him to draw his own sword in her defense._ If that happened, Nauts would undoubtedly die: Kurt was a master swordsman, and the harbor office guards were largely comprised of the dregs of Naut society.

The next morning, Kurt spoke to him before breakfast, while they were still waiting for de Sardet to come downstairs. “So, we’re returning the favor, are we? You helped us sneak into those warehouses, so now we’ll be sneaking into the harbor master’s office for you.”

“Yes,” Vasco said, surprised that he already knew.

“Green Blood told me last night,” Kurt explained. “Said you wanted to know more about your family. To be honest, I’m surprised you’d ask for her help.”

“Since we’ve come ashore, I’ve realized I may have misjudged her,” Vasco said.

“May have?”

“Did misjudge her,” Vasco amended. “She seems willing to help…which, I suspect, means that you have also volunteered.”

“I wouldn’t let her sneak around the Port Quarter alone…though I am surprised our disguises passed muster the first time,” Kurt admitted. “It’s lucky we still have them.”

De Sardet appeared. “Good morning to you both,” she said.

“Good morning, Green Blood.”

“De Sardet,” Vasco said, nodding to her as the butler emerged from the kitchens with platters full of food: eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast, with butter, flagons of watered wine, tea, and a carafe of orange juice; oranges were apparently native to Teer Fradee as well as the continent.

They did not stand on ceremony, reaching for the food shortly after it was set down; Kurt piled his plate high, while de Sardet reached for the orange juice.

“I can pour that for you, Your Excellency,” the butler said.

“It’s quite all right; I can do it myself,” de Sardet replied. Vasco was somewhat amused by the ongoing struggle between them: the butler seemed determined to wait on de Sardet, treating her the way Vasco thought most nobles would have wanted to be treated, as if she were incapable of pouring her own drinks or plating her own food.

_And he only does it for her,_ Vasco thought. De Sardet had already sternly lectured Thomas that both Vasco and Kurt were to be treated as her guests and equals, but even now, he seemed to obey her orders reluctantly, with only the iciest façade of politeness toward the two captains.

“In fact, we’ll be fine,” de Sardet told the butler. “I’ll call for you if we need anything else, but I can’t imagine we will. Please give Robert our compliments on the meal; the food is excellent.”

Thomas bowed stiffly. “As you wish, Your Excellency.” 

She waited until he was gone to speak. “We’ll go down to the harbor as soon as we’re done with breakfast…but how will we get in?”

“The harbor office is well-guarded, inside and out,” said Vasco. “Getting through the main entrance is impossible.”

They discussed the various ways she might gain entrance; Vasco spoke of sneaking in, while de Sardet suggested a haze potion. “Since I wished to avoid hurting any Nauts, I have made some inquiries…”

He hesitated, realizing that it would involve speaking of some very unladylike things to de Sardet. While Constantin had regaled him with tales of his adventures in the brothels of Serene, when Vasco had asked about his cousin’s involvement in those tales, Constantin had reacted with a combination of amusement and horror.

“Ladies in the Congregation are held to a very different standard,” he’d told him. “I don’t know what it’s like among the Nauts, but if my fair cousin had ever been caught in a brothel with a single man, it would have been a terrible scandal. Not that she would ever have gone! She’s as celibate as Her Supreme Holiness of Theleme…actually, probably more so, given the priests’ appetites for scandal.” Constantin had sighed theatrically. “She has always disapproved of my excursions…but I would never have wanted her to fetch me! Bad enough for my father to send Kurt to spoil my fun, but I would never want a breath of scandal to surround her because of my poorer decisions.”

Now, Vasco realized that he would have to speak to de Sardet of brothels and prostitutes. _You’re both adults,_ he reminded himself, _and Constantin is her cousin; it isn’t as if she’s never heard of a brothel._

“The harbor office has an…arrangement with Dieter, from the brothel. Girls come every night with wine.”

He’d thought he’d have to explain the plan, but de Sardet caught on immediately. “I see. You want us to spike the wine so that they sleep during our search.”

“It’s a proven technique,” Vasco admitted. “And I can assure you they do not sniff the wine before drinking it.” Sleeping potions tended to have a subtle odor that remained even after they’d been poured into a drink.

De Sardet debated whether she ought to buy the sleeping potions or brew them herself. “I have the skill, but I lack the ingredients,” she admitted, “and given the time and cost…”

“That merchant is in your debt,” Kurt suggested. “Why not go back to him and see if he’ll cut you a deal?”

As it turned out, Kurt’s advice was sound: de Sardet had barely presented herself at the man’s stall before he fell all over himself to serve her. “Your Excellency, welcome back to my modest shop! It is an immense honor for me to be of service to such noble clientele!”

Kurt let out a guffaw and glanced at Vasco. “Such nobles,” he said.

“You have my thanks for all that you’ve done for me. All of us among the merchants are most grateful to you for your help.”

“It is nothing,” de Sardet said, with her usual self-effacement. “It was a disgrace that those guards were not stopped sooner. I am sorry that neither the upper echelons of the Coin Guard nor anyone in the governor’s palace knew of the matter.” 

“Those men were a disgrace to the Guard,” Kurt agreed. “If any try to threaten you again, go see Quartermaster Manfred in the barracks. He’ll set things right.” He grimaced. “And we’ll find out who’s behind it all…this Egon.”

“If you can do that, you will have our eternal gratitude,” the merchant said. “Your Excellency, if there’s anything you want, I promise you, you will have the best prices on all my wares.”

De Sardet selected the sleeping potions and handed over the gold, and Vasco felt a twinge of guilt as he saw the amount.

“De Sardet,” he said as they moved away from the stall, “the Nauts do not pay well, but a captain’s wages are naught to scoff at, and I have some savings…”

“Thank you, Captain, but it isn’t necessary. I’m more than happy to help.”

Vasco frowned; he could almost hear her saying, “Perhaps this will help correct the poor first impression I have made,” as she had the first day they’d met, and again when she’d found he’d been assigned to her service.

“You don’t have to do that,” he told her as they walked toward the Coin brothel. “Really. I’m the one who asked for your help, and you shouldn’t have to shoulder the costs.” He couldn’t imagine that she could put it to any expense account; the potions would undoubtedly come out of her private funds, and while she was rich, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the idea that he’d essentially guilted her into it.

“As I said, I’m happy to help in any way I can. I know what it is to be sent from your home against your will, leaving everything that is familiar to you. If this helps put your mind at ease, the money spent will be well worth it.”

They reached the Coin Tavern, and again, Vasco hesitated. “I could go down and see Dieter myself,” he offered.

“You may need the services of a legate,” de Sardet answered, “or that of a captain of the Coin Guard. Kurt may be of more use to you than me.”

“Will it not injure your reputation?” Vasco asked. “Going into a brothel?”

“In the middle of the day, with you and Kurt?” De Sardet laughed. “If I was going to sneak off to a brothel, I don’t think I’d be taking both of you with me. We won’t be here long enough for anyone to accuse me of behaving shamefully in any case. Come on.”

They found Dieter in the basement, at the entrance to the brothel, napping in a chair. As it was early afternoon, the brothel was largely empty of customers; one or two stalls sounded as if they were occupied, but many of the prostitutes milled around chatting idly with one another.

Their entrance drew some attention: a few of the prostitutes watched Kurt or Vasco with an interested gaze, while one or two whispered to each other, glancing at de Sardet and tittering. There were both men and women among their numbers, and Vasco couldn’t help but feel a hint of frustrated desire as he looked at a man and a woman conversing: the man was naked to the waist, revealing a toned abdomen and very little chest hair, while the woman was a voluptuous redhead, clad in a low-cut gown that accentuated her breasts.

De Sardet coughed politely, and Vasco realized he was staring. Embarrassed, he looked away, to see Kurt smirking; he got the feeling the Coin Guard had not been caught staring. “Would you like to rent a stall, sailor? We can leave your business until you’re done.”

“That will not be necessary, thank you,” Vasco said through gritted teeth, though part of him thought he might not have minded. He’d occasionally used the services of a Coin brothel while ashore, as many Nauts did, though he preferred to find casual encounters among his own people. _You can be sure a fellow Naut is spending their time with you willingly, and that they were not forced into it through fear of starvation or poverty._

“Are you Lieutenant Dieter?” de Sardet asked, as politely as if they’d encountered each other in the palace halls.

Dieter grinned. “Why? You looking to have a good time?”

Since they’d first become acquainted, Vasco had realized that Kurt’s usual expression seemed to be somewhere between ‘disgruntled’ and ‘sullen,’ but now, he saw real anger rising in the soldier’s eyes. _That brothel-keeper had better watch himself. Kurt won't take kindly to him if he decides to insult de Sardet's honor._

De Sardet was unfazed. “It seems you are sending girls and wine to the harbor office every night?”

“So? There’s no law against that, is there?”

“No, and I’m not here to stop you,” de Sardet began.

“Listen, Dieter,” Vasco interrupted, “we just wanted to add a secret ingredient to your wine tonight.”

“What? Are you joking? Are you trying to slip a laxative in it?” Dieter let out a loud, derisive laugh, far too amused at his own joke.

“We were thinking more of sleeping pills. Nothing bad, you see.” Vasco paused, wondering if he’d said too much.

Fortunately, Dieter didn’t seem to think the legate of the Congregation, her bodyguard, and a Naut captain had any designs against the harbor office. “Listen, I have nothing against a little prank, but I can’t risk losing my best customers!”

“Captain Vasco is very influential among the Nauts,” de Sardet ventured. Vasco glanced at her, surprised at the lie; he knew that, given his grounding, nothing could have been farther from the truth. “Maybe he could help you expand your excellent clientele even further?”

Vasco didn’t miss a beat. “If you accept, I could arrange for your ‘agreement’ to come to fruition. In San Matheus, for example…”

Dieter scoffed at him. “Influential, eh? When you’re a captain of what, exactly? My girls hear the gossip from the harbor office; they know you’ve had your boat taken from you.”

“It’s a ship,” Vasco began, offended; Dieter’s words stung more than he wanted to admit.

But before he could say anything more, Kurt intervened. He’d been entirely silent throughout the conversation, as he generally was; Vasco had been around de Sardet and Kurt enough to know that Kurt was not naturally the talkative sort, and when in public, tended to be a silent figure standing half a step behind de Sardet.

Now, he stepped forward. “My friends kindly asked you for a simple favor, _Lieutenant_ ,” Kurt spoke up, placing emphasis on the man’s rank. “But if you’d prefer orders, we can do it that way, too.”

Dieter grimaced; Kurt did outrank him, and he was cornered. “So then, we agree,” de Sardet intervened smoothly.

Dieter nodded. “Yes then, that’s fine. Tonight, your friends will receive their delivery… ‘seasoned.’”

“And not a word of this to anyone,” de Sardet cautioned. “This is a prank on some of Captain Vasco’s friends. He does not want them getting wind of it in advance; that would ruin the prank entirely. Nor will you speak to them of it afterward; he wants to be able to surprise them.”

“Do I have to make those orders explicit as well?” Kurt asked Dieter, stepping in so he loomed over the lieutenant. Dieter was a short, somewhat chubby man, with a thick beard and a round face, and he quailed as Kurt glowered down at him, his arms folded across his chest. 

“No,” Dieter managed.

“No, what?”

“No, sir!”

_I don’t know if he’s going to salute or shit himself,_ Vasco thought, trying to keep from smiling.

De Sardet handed over the potions, and they left, making plans to disguise themselves at dark. “We’ll have to change,” she told Kurt, “and I still have some of that ink. Captain Vasco can help us with the tattoos.”

“If you’re going to keep dressing me up in that getup, you might think of having it altered to fit. Another month of eating at the legate’s table, and I won’t be able to lace those trousers.”

“I hope this is the last time,” said Vasco. “Sneaking around, pretending to be a Naut…the harbor guards aren’t the brightest the Nauts have to offer, but I don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to do it without getting caught. At least when we marked those crates, you were fresh off the _Sea Horse_ , and there were enough new ships in harbor that you could pass as crew. Sooner or later, everyone will know the legate’s face…and that of her bodyguard.” In truth, it wasn’t Kurt’s face that would be as distinctive as his size: there weren’t many Nauts who stood above six feet, let alone with Kurt’s broad-shouldered strength.

“The sleeping potions will help in that regard,” said de Sardet. “Thank you, Kurt. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Bribed him, more like than not. A man like Dieter will always take some gold to look the other way. The brothel’s an easy posting, usually given to someone who’s been wounded too badly to fight, but too many of them decide they’re owed more than what the Guard is willing to pay.”

“He did not look as if he’d been wounded,” de Sardet said, frowning.

“There’s a reason he has that chair,” Kurt answered. “Pull the leg of his trousers up, and I’d wager one of those boots is hiding a wooden leg.”

“Why not use a peg? It’s more stable.”

“Lets a man look like nothing’s wrong,” said Kurt. “Helps him keep his dignity.”

“There’s no shame in having lost a leg,” Vasco replied.

“There isn’t,” Kurt agreed, “but I’ve seen how people look at men who’ve been wounded that way. Too many people look down on them – pity and patronize them, treat them like a cripple even after they’ve learned to adapt, act like they lost their head instead of a limb. It’s easier for him if you can’t tell anything’s wrong by looking at him.”

“Do you know many men who’ve lost limbs, Captain?” de Sardet asked, and Vasco knew she was referring to him: she never called Kurt by his rank, only his name. “I know the Nauts offer their services for war as well as trade, but I thought you were rarely called to battle.”

“That’s true enough.” The Nauts did keep warships, and they did sometimes do battle with pirates or privateers on behalf of one nation or another, but there were far more trading and transport vessels than warships in the Naut fleet, and Vasco himself had never served aboard a warship. “But there are more perils at sea than sea-battles. Accidents aboard ship are the most common way to lose a limb. Some who’ve lost an arm or a leg still serve at sea; others are remanded to our island to serve in various positions there…including as brothel-keepers.”

Kurt looked amused at the thought. “I know the Coin Guard does not have a contract with your island.”

“The Nauts don’t permit anyone who is not a Naut to know the location of our island, let alone to set foot upon it.” Even the island’s name was a secret to those who were not a part of the guild.

“So you have Nauts who end up assigned to service the sailors?” Kurt laughed, seemingly unfazed by talking about the matter in front of de Sardet.

“They’re not ordered to serve, if that’s what you mean, but some volunteer,” said Vasco. “There are always a certain number of Nauts who find themselves unsuited for life aboard a ship. Either they are naturally seasick, or they are afraid of the sight of the open sea, or they cannot bear to live at sea for months in the hold.”

“Claustrophobia and agoraphobia would both be impossible for a Naut at sea,” de Sardet mused. “I had never thought of that.”

“Those Nauts who are not fit for service aboard a sea vessel are assigned a post on shore. Some help build our ships; others teach our children, though that posting is generally reserved for those who have lived at sea and are now retired or otherwise unable to serve. Some become harbor guards. And, yes, some become prostitutes, to comfort Nauts who are otherwise unable or unwilling to find a partner who will please them without additional compensation…although such a position exists only on our island, where no other arrangements exist.”

He glanced at de Sardet, expecting to see her looking embarrassed or scandalized, and instead was surprised to see she was only amused. “I did not think that I would learn so much about the Nauts today,” she said mildly. Her eyes were sparkling, and he saw the laughter in them.

“Do one-legged Nauts often end up working in the brothels?” Kurt asked, and the laughter in de Sardet’s eyes suddenly bubbled up through her lips.

“Kurt!”

“It is a valid question,” he said, straight-faced, but now Vasco saw the amusement in his eyes as well.

 _Seeing him in that brothel, you’d think he had no sense of humor, but alone with de Sardet, it’s another story entirely. From how Dieter reacted, it doesn't seem as if his fellow guards know he has a sense of humor...but around her, I wouldn't be surprised to see him smile._ "Do wounded Coin Guards often take assignments in the brothel?” Vasco rejoined.

“Why, would you be interested in visiting one?” Kurt didn’t wait for an answer. “Wounded soldiers tend to retire to running the brothel or the tavern. The Guard has enough recruits for its brothels without relying on its soldiers.” He sobered, and Vasco thought he looked a little sad. “There’s never a shortage of hungry men and women who are willing to sign a contract at the brothel. It’s a better life than being a streetwalker or a camp follower…the sort of position they dream of, the same way the brothel workers dream of becoming fine courtesans.”

He spoke in such a way that Vasco thought he must have had first-hand experience. _A parent? A sibling?_ But that made no sense; aboard the _Sea Horse_ , Kurt had spoken of growing up in the Coin Guard, from a terribly young age, and of envying de Sardet her family. _A lover, perhaps? One of those camp followers?_ Vasco couldn’t guess.

“I would hope that isn’t true on Teer Fradee,” said de Sardet. “There’s no malichor here, and I would hope that no one is starving. We’ve seen cutthroats, but not nearly as many as in Serene, and they seem driven by avarice rather than desperation.”

“I’d hope so too,” Kurt said. “The Coin Guard should take recruits who have a choice in the matter…who are there because they want to be,” he said, and Vasco couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of himself.

 _A child recruit,_ Vasco thought, _given to his people the same way I was…though, admittedly, not quite as young._ Vasco had been less than a year old; Kurt had been five. But the thought gave him sympathy for the other man, and perhaps a little more understanding. _While we may have come to love our respective guilds, maybe even found a home there, neither of us were ever given a choice about whether or not we wished to join...and nothing can ever change the fact that the choice was taken from us, along with the life we might otherwise have led._

As they went into the legate’s house, de Sardet bounded up the stairs, going to change, but Vasco stopped Kurt at the foot of the stairs. “Do you ever think about your own family?” he asked.

Kurt stared at him, and for a moment Vasco thought he’d get an answer that was “that’s none of your concern,” or perhaps something more profanely dismissive, but instead Kurt gave him an honest reply. “What family? The wet-nurse who cared for me, or the parents who signed me over to the Coin Guard? I don’t have any grandparents living, and I’m the only child of two only children, so there are no brothers or sisters, no aunts and uncles or cousins. As for the others, well, they’re all dead now. My parents died in battle before I was old enough to see it myself, and my wet-nurse died of the malichor within a year of giving me over to the Coin Guard’s keeping.”

“How did you find out? When?”

“The Coin Guard lets its recruits see their files,” Kurt replied. “Once I had my parents’ names, they let me see their files, too. They’d served in the Blue-Silver and the Red Sun; they were both officers. Don’t think they wanted children, and I got the feeling that I was an unpleasant and unexpected surprise that they got rid of as soon as they could. I don’t even know why they had me, if there was some religious objection or if a potion didn’t work." The words were blunt, harsh, and spoken without a trace of self-pity. “As for my wet-nurse…I tried to find her again when I was old enough, but finding one camp follower is a hard task, especially fifteen years after the fact…and when my work paid off, when I tracked down an officer from that camp who remembered her, I found out she’d been dead for nearly a decade.” There was genuine sadness in his voice then, a slight rasp in his voice that lingered for a few moments as he spoke. “I’d liked to have had a family, sailor…but I wish you better luck with yours than I’ve had with mine.”


	34. Leandre D'Arcy

Vasco did not need to change, but de Sardet and Kurt both did; it was foolish, but it was all he could do to keep from pacing. _I can’t believe it,_ he thought. _This may finally be the night I learn who I am. A decade of searching, a lifetime of wondering…it may all come to an end tonight, all because de Sardet was willing to help._

 _First, she shows herself willing to help Jonas,_ he thought. Jonas had been nothing and no one to her, and while a more cynical part of him told himself that the legate might have wanted to curry favor with the Naut captain who was transporting her to Teer Fradee, he knew too much of de Sardet to believe it. _Jonas was a boy; that alone was reason enough for her to help. Though that wasn’t her only reason._ He’d seen the way that de Sardet had leapt at the chance to help anyone who asked. _Even if they were asking something unreasonable or unsavory…though I was impressed with the way she handled it all, in the end._ She had helped Kurt with his smuggling because she was fond of him, and the ambassadors out of a sense of duty – but she had handled each situation in accordance with her own conscience. _I must admit, I doubted her when she said she would not turn over so-called heretics to the Cardinal Ambassador blindly, but she played that Bridge-building ambassador against his religious counterpart as adeptly as any I’ve seen._

Moreover, she had helped Vasco, and he was grateful. _Grateful enough to entrust her with this._ He did not believe that she was doing it to gain a favor; he’d seen enough of her to know that wasn’t in her nature. _I doubt it occurred to her to refuse; I have the feeling that she has never said no to anyone in her life._ Constantin had certainly seemed taken aback about her insistence on occupying the legate’s house. _Though I wonder if that was truly her desire._ Vasco thought her insistence was largely predicated on avoiding an insult to Lady de Morange and keeping the house staff gainfully employed. _It did seem that she wanted to keep Kurt close. That may have been a factor. A familiar face in a strange land is a comfort._ Vasco missed his own crew dearly. _What I wouldn’t give to join them in the mess for a night, to hear Lauro’s drunken boasts or Bianca’s tall tales, to hear Gustavo’s grousing over the manifests or Hector’s plans for spending his salary at the Coin brothel. I wonder what they think._

He did have to admit that, if he was to be assigned to a land-dweller, the legate and her bodyguard were better company than he’d expected. _Better company than I deserve, to be sure, especially after how I treated her on the voyage. She has no reason to help me. A captain is no one; if a legate wanted to curry favor with anyone, it would be one of the admirals. But she’s risking the admiral’s wrath to help me._

“Well, how do I look?”

Vasco startled as he turned back to see de Sardet: while he’d seen her dressed as a Naut before, it didn’t lessen his astonishment upon seeing her again. She wore a custom officer’s coat, and had replaced her usual feathered hat with a brown leather tricorne of the sort that many Nauts wore. She’d pulled her collar high to try to disguise her birthmark, and if she turned that side of her face away from Vasco, he wouldn’t have looked twice at her despite her general resemblance to the natives.

 _Nauts come from all over Gacane,_ he thought, _and while I don’t think we’ve had any volunteers from this island, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to learn that one of them had chosen to join us._

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were one of us,” said Vasco. He was entirely astonished: the disguise was far better than he’d expected. _She truly seems a Naut._

“Kurt? What do you think?”

Vasco glanced at the captain of the Coin Guard: for a split second, Kurt looked as if he had been caught out, his expression somewhere between panic, guilt, and denial, before he managed, “You make a better Naut than I do, that’s for certain.”

 _He was looking at her…but I don’t think his thoughts were about whether or not that disguise would pass muster._ Vasco had seen the admiring look in the other man’s eyes in the moment before de Sardet had asked his opinion. Barely managing to conceal his amusement, Vasco asked, “Kurt, why don’t you turn around? Let us see how you look in that disguise.” _He’s right: those clothes are far too tight. Most Nauts are nowhere near his size._ Most men were nowhere near Kurt’s size: he stood over six feet tall, and Vasco would have guessed he was over two hundred pounds, most of that muscle. _They’re lucky they found any Naut clothes that fit him at all._

“Raise your arms,” said Vasco. As Kurt turned, doing as he’d asked, Vasco noted that his coat did look like it was straining across his shoulders – but he also noticed that de Sardet’s gaze had drifted rather lower, to where the coat had pulled up as Kurt raised his arms. _Those pants are too tight,_ he thought, _and I can’t entirely blame her for staring; he does fill them out nicely._ But, given the surreptitious glances they were casting at each other when they thought no one was looking, Vasco had to wonder about the pair. _There’s not even a hint of romance between them; that would be a scandal greater than if de Sardet had visited the brothel for her own satisfaction. But there’s clearly an attraction there. I wonder if either of them realizes it?_

He suspected not; in fact, he thought that Kurt would likely angrily deny it if he asked. _I pride myself on reading people, and I know what I see. They’re fond of each other, and they both look as if they’d be interested in something more than friendship._ Vasco remembered watching the pair of them dancing during the crossing celebration, carefree and happy, and wondered what it would take to get either of them to act on those sentiments. _I’m getting ahead of myself. Before either of them can act, they have to admit they have feelings._

“I can’t believe I let you do this,” Kurt groused, rubbing a hand against his bare jaw.

“If that disguise is to pass muster, the ink will look better on bare skin than stubble,” Vasco said. “Come here, and I’ll make you a sea-given.” He’d gotten the ink and a fine brush; he had a steady hand, and had always been good at drawing charts. _I hope I'll be able to make passable tattoos for both of them._ He had no intention of trying his luck: they would have the tattoos of relatively new sailors, without any additional achievements. _I've had a more eventful career than most; there are plenty of ordinary sailors who reach forty without half my ink._

Kurt let him draw the tattoos in. “This had better wash off.”

“It did in Serene,” de Sardet reminded him. “A little soap and water, or perhaps some alcohol if that doesn’t do it.” She smiled. “You look every inch a Naut.”

Vasco freehanded de Sardet’s tattoo onto her chin. “I’ve made you a sea-born,” he told her. “Careful. That ink should be dry, but I don’t want you smearing it.”

“I can’t tell you the last time I shaved myself this clean,” said Kurt.

“I can’t remember, either,” said de Sardet. “It must have been when you first came to Serene.” She gave him a fond smile, and Kurt’s complaining stopped, though he looked expectantly to Vasco.

“Well? Do I pass muster?”

“Yes, but leave that two-handed sword at home,” said Vasco. “Can you use a rapier?”

“I’d be a piss-poor master-at-arms if I couldn’t.”

“Take mine,” Vasco said, offering him his weapon. “Nauts fight with rapiers or sabers, as a rule, if it comes down to a duel with the blade. None of those immense two-handed broadswords, no maces, no war-hammers or longswords.”

“We have no intention of using any weapons tonight,” de Sardet reassured him.

“I’d hope not. I told you, I don’t want any Nauts harmed – but I would not leave you entirely without protection,” Vasco said. “Even if you don’t encounter any violence in the Port Quarter, we still have to get there, and you know the city streets here aren’t safe after dark.”

De Sardet nodded, then began to barrage him with questions. “What will your file look like? Where will it be located? Is it likely to be in a locked cabinet? Kurt has some lockpicking tools, but neither of us are skilled.”

Vasco gave her all the details, but she was thoughtful, turning over all the details of the plot in her mind. “Once we’ve taken it, won’t they notice the file is gone?”

“I don’t think anyone will go looking for it. The only reason you’d pull someone’s file is to add a commendation or a reprimand, or to look someone up if you’re considering them for promotion. As I am not likely to become a fleet commander while run aground, well…”

“Tomorrow morning, all the harbor office guards are going to wake feeling groggy and hungover,” said de Sardet. “Surely one of them will realize that they didn’t all get drunk enough to pass out. Once that happens, won’t they realize the harbor office has been burgled? If they go looking for what’s missing and realize that the only item is your file…”

“The harbor guards are not the brightest, as I’ve said,” said Vasco. “And they will not want to tell the Admiral that they have been bringing prostitutes and wine into the office while they are on duty.”

“But they will know,” said de Sardet. “Even if they don’t tell the admiral, what if they take it out on you?”

“How would they do that, exactly?” asked Vasco. “For one thing, I am a captain, and they are lower than the lowest ordinary seaman. For another, my ship has been taken from me. What more could the admiral do?”

“Set you to guarding the harbor office alongside the guards you drugged,” Kurt suggested, and Vasco frowned; the punishment sounded all too plausible.

“Even if the harbor guards do nothing, someone will undoubtedly go looking for it eventually,” said de Sardet. “Would it be better if I took it back after you’ve had a chance to look at it, or would you like me to make a copy?”

“There won’t be time,” Vasco answered. “Though perhaps we could convince one of Dieter’s girls to slip the file inside on a later night, once I’ve had time to make a copy. The files should not be locked away; the harbor office is so well-guarded that even the room itself is not locked.” He’d learned all that from making careful inquiry among different members of the harbor office, prying what he could from casual conversations, and had visited the harbor master once under pretext of learning more about the _Sea Horse_ ’s next assignment. A few well-placed bribes had done the rest, and he had as much information as he could have expected to glean.

“That will not help you if the guards search the office in the morning,” said Kurt. “And if they suspect Dieter’s girls drugged them, well, I’d suspect they’ll be stopping that arrangement.”

“Much to Dieter’s displeasure,” said de Sardet.

“Brothel-keepers are judged on the contracts they bring in,” said Kurt. “And Dieter’s the sort to be taking an extra cut from the Nauts.” He looked disgusted. “He may not be on the front lines, but no Coin Guard should be taking bribes.”

“That’s a very noble sentiment,” said Vasco.

“I don’t want you to be caught or punished for this, Captain,” de Sardet told him. “I’m happy to help, but I don’t want you to be demoted if Admiral Cabral discovers what you’ve done.”

“I doubt she’d demote me,” Vasco replied. “She might well turn me out entirely…if she doesn’t put me in the brig.” He knew too many of his people’s secrets to be trusted; he didn’t know of any Nauts who’d left their people. _Once a Naut, forever a Naut,_ he thought; it was a common saying among his people.

“We’ll figure something out,” de Sardet promised. “We have to do this right. We won’t have a second chance.”

As the sun set, they made their way to the docks; it wasn’t long before they saw Dieter’s girls go into the harbor office, carrying the wine.

“Are you sure Dieter will keep his word?” Vasco asked anxiously.

“If he doesn’t, he’ll answer to me,” Kurt replied.

“That should be more than enough to ensure he keeps his word,” said de Sardet with a smile.

It was: it felt like an eternity, but perhaps half an hour later, Dieter’s girls emerged. One of them wandered over to Vasco, Kurt, and de Sardet. “It’s done, sir,” she said, looking to Kurt. “Lieutenant Dieter says you won’t have any complaints. They’ll be drugged ‘til dawn.” She eyed Kurt and de Sardet’s disguises, but didn’t say anything.

“Remember, not a word,” said Kurt.

“Captain Vasco’s pulling a prank on one of his friends in the harbor office, and if word gets out that we’re behind it, it will ruin the surprise,” de Sardet added. The woman’s eyes widened as she recognized the legate, but she only nodded.

“Dieter’s girls are gone. The guards should get a good night’s sleep now,” said de Sardet as the prostitutes moved back into the city.

“I’ll wait here as planned. I can’t risk getting caught there.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure not to hurt anyone,” she promised.

Vasco nodded; he wasn’t worried about that. _She isn’t the careless sort, and she certainly isn’t bloodthirsty. If I didn’t trust her that far, I wouldn’t let her go._ Even so, his heart felt as it if was in his throat. “Good luck, de Sardet,” he managed. “Kurt.”

The pair moved off, and Vasco was left to wait in the shadows, watching anxiously. He saw no guards on patrol, and forced himself to breathe: he knew that their absence was a good sign, and that they were likely unconscious with the others.

But it still seemed an eternity before de Sardet and Kurt reappeared. Vasco’s heart beat a little faster as he saw that de Sardet was holding something.

She gave him a triumphant smile as she approached. “I was able to recover your file, Vasco. And nobody saw me!”

“Wonderful,” he said, relief mingling with joy. “You did everything perfectly.” He reached for the file. “So let’s see what this file can tell us…”

He had to pause for a moment to steady his hands before he opened the file: it was hard for him to believe that after so many years of searching, he’d finally found precisely what he was looking for. _All the answers to the questions I’ve asked over the years…every secret of my past…_

Opening the file, he started to read. _My name,_ he thought. _It’s here. My parents’ names…my family…I have a brother_. _I have a birthday._ The Nauts did not celebrate birthdays; they incremented their age from the New Year, and Vasco had never known his true date of birth. _Now I do._

Most of the file was Vasco’s history with the Nauts: a record of the ships he’d been stationed on, his captains’ reports, commendations and promotions. He flared with anger as he saw the report from Captain Manuel on the discipline he’d inflicted for Vasco’s sharp tongue, and with pride as he saw reports from his other captains: Captain Isabela in particular had only kind things to say about him.

But he returned to the short section at the beginning of the file again and again. _Vasco, born Léandre d’Arcy, second son of Florian and Lisette. Aged nine months at the time of donation. Donated to the Sea as part of the larger contract for the Congregation of Merchants, performed under the auspices of the Prince d’Orsay, to renew and maintain the alliance that exists between our people, and was so unfortunately strained by certain events in Serene Harbor last year._ There was not a copy of the contract within the file, as was often the case; instead, there was an addendum that said the contract was part of some larger whole, and to refer to the Congregation contract for details.

 _I was given to the Nauts to renew the alliance between our peoples,_ Vasco thought. He could not help but reflect with irony on his present situation: having been given from the Congregation to the Nauts to seal their alliance, Admiral Cabral had seen fit to give him back to the Congregation to further strengthen those ties.

“So I was right,” he breathed. “My real name is Léandre, son of the d’Arcy family from Serene…nobles, I suppose?” The ‘de’ epithet indicated it was likely the case; while some once-princely families had fallen from power, losing titles and wealth, Vasco thought it likely that his long-held suspicions were correct. _I could have been a lord. I would have been a lord, a noble just like de Sardet._

“Yes,” said de Sardet. “I must admit that I had no idea they’d given a son to the Nauts.”

“To think that I spent my childhood polishing ship bridges when I could have been wearing silk,” said Vasco. He thought of the strange combination of loneliness and lack of privacy he’d endured in the barracks: no parents to love him as a son, too many ‘brothers and sisters’ to ever feel as if anything was truly his own, and no true sense of family. _Not until I snuck aboard my first ship did I ever feel as if there was anyone who cared._

“I’m sorry for you, Vasco, but growing up in nobility is not as simple as it sounds,” de Sardet said.

“Really,” he said, frowning. _It would have been far better than growing up on our island._ He thought of what Kurt had told him about de Sardet’s childhood, and of Constantin’s offhanded remarks about his own parents. _Florian and Lisette. They were required to give me up to satisfy the terms of an alliance. If they had kept me, would they have loved me?_ De Sardet saw his skepticism, and opened her mouth as if to say something more, but he interrupted. “Well, whatever. I’ve learned my real name thanks to you. That’s what I wanted.”

“Léandre d’Arcy,” de Sardet said, looking determined to say something more. “I remember coming across a d’Arcy at my uncle’s court…your brother, no doubt.”

“My brother? What was he like?”

“It was a long time ago. We were children,” said de Sardet, hesitating. “I couldn’t tell you what he looks like today.”

“A brother,” Vasco breathed. “I wonder if we are alike despite our completely different lives.” He looked at the file, weighing it in his hand. “Thank you for sharing this,” he said, “and for telling me about him. You have given me back my identity. This is more important than the Nauts care to admit…”

 _This means more to me than I can say._ His heart was full, and he looked again at the file, memorizing every word of his noble past. _There’s little enough of it there, and I wish I could read the contract itself, but this is more than I ever thought I’d see._ Once he was done, he handed it back to de Sardet. “Put it back,” he said. “Before anyone knows it’s gone. I’ve seen what I needed.”

“Are you sure? We could go back to the house, make a copy…”

“You’ve already risked enough for me,” he answered. “The longer we linger, the greater the risk that one of those guards will wake. I won’t forget what I’ve seen, I promise you that.”

“I can go back in,” Kurt offered. “I’ll put it back where we found it.”

“We go together,” de Sardet insisted. She was as good as her word: they disappeared again, leaving Vasco to dwell on all he’d learned.

 _Léandre d’Arcy,_ he thought. _My name is Léandre d’Arcy, and I was a lord of the Congregation. A noble._ He couldn’t help but remember every tidbit Constantin had ever dropped about his own upbringing, or every word de Sardet had spoken about her own. _That might have been my life._ Vasco couldn’t help but wonder how he would have turned out. _I might have come to the docks with them, dressed in silks and a coat with golden brocade, introducing myself to some Naut captain and booking passage to Teer Fradee. How would I have sounded with a noble accent?_

They returned, and as they hurried back to the legate’s residence, Vasco couldn’t help but feel grateful toward de Sardet. _She risked a great deal to help me, and she didn’t have to. There was no benefit in this for her, and she didn’t hesitate._

“Does this mean you’ll want us to be calling you Sir Léandre?” Kurt asked, drawing him from his thoughts. “You’re a prince’s son.”

“A prince?”

“That’s right. The d’Arcys are a princely family, if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” de Sardet confirmed. “Prince Florian and Princess Lisette were sometimes at Court. As I said, Sir Bastien was one of Constantin’s companions for a time, when we were young. It was a very long time ago, we were only children then, but I do remember that he was their only child. I did not know about you, of course, Vasco.” She paused. “Would you like us to call you by your birth name?”

“Léandre,” he said, testing it.

“If I had the choice of going by ‘Sir Léandre’ or ‘Captain Vasco,’ I know which I’d pick,” Kurt said. “What kind of name is Léandre, anyway?”

“Kurt,” de Sardet said gently, then looked to Vasco. “We will gladly call you whatever name you prefer.”

“I’ve no right to be called Léandre d’Arcy,” said Vasco. “I may have been born a noble, but fate has made me a Naut…and, until I decide where my future lies, I will not cut all my ties with my people.” _Léandre d’Arcy._ He tried to imagine the life he might live under that name. _I love the sea, and I miss it already…but perhaps I can take this time in New Serene to learn more about the life I might have lived. Admiral Cabral has taken the sea from me, and if she does not choose to return it to me, I may have no choice but to find a new life…and Léandre d’Arcy, a noble without a title, may fare better on land than Vasco, a captain without a ship._ “For now, at least, I will remain Captain Vasco of the Nauts…but at least I know where I came from, and that I had a family.”

“Thank you,” he told de Sardet again as they entered the house.


	35. A Princely Family

Over the next few days, de Sardet noticed that Vasco seemed preoccupied with everything he had learned. She met with Sir de Courcillon and Lady de Morange to receive briefings on the island, unpacked her trunks, and practiced with Kurt; all the while, Vasco remained at the legate’s house, spending most of his time in his rooms, thinking. He even refused to accompany her to dinner at the palace; it was a polite refusal, but she was still concerned.

“He’s spent most of his afternoons walking the city,” Kurt offered. “I saw him near the docks when I was heading back from the barracks.”

“Does he have business there, do you think?”

“Not exactly. He’s got a lot to think about, Green Blood. None of us have a choice of where we’re born or what we do with our lives, but it’s one thing to know that your guild likely saved you from a worse life, and another to know that you could’ve been a noble.” Kurt spoke without a hint of self-pity. “My parents didn’t want me either, but they weren’t princes of the Congregation.”

“Do you think there’s anything I can do to help? Perhaps I could write the Prince and Princess d’Arcy in Serene,” de Sardet suggested.

“Not unless he wants you to,” Kurt answered. “Let him make that decision. If he wants to tell his parents who he is and what’s become of him, that should be his choice to make. For now, give him some time. Let him think on what he’s learned. If he wants to spend all day roaming the docks and looking at the ships, let him. If he wants to dress as a lord and call himself Sir Léandre, well…” Kurt couldn’t help a snort. “It’s not what I’d do, in his place, but I won’t stop him.”

Kurt accompanied her to supper with Constantin. She had to hold her tongue when Constantin mentioned that he’d heard rumors of some sort of disturbance at the harbor office. “There are rumors of a wild party, where half the harbor office guard got so drunk they were still passed out when their replacements came to relieve them,” Constantin told her in a conspiratorial tone.

“I hope you didn’t hear that from one of Dieter’s girls,” Kurt said.

“And what if I did?” Constantin answered.

“I’ve no objection to your seeking company, but I’d hope you’d be discreet about it…and I hope you’d make them come to you, instead of the other way around. I don’t need you getting kidnapped by bandits on your way to the Coin brothel.”

“My business is my own, Kurt,” Constantin replied archly.

“He’s only trying to keep you safe,” de Sardet intervened. “He is the captain of your palace guard, after all.”

“I am aware,” Constantin huffed. “He’s spent the last week putting my guards through their paces.”

“I’d like to spend more time putting you through your paces,” said Kurt. “You haven’t had any practice since we were on the sailor’s boat.”

“It can wait,” said Constantin. “I’m still adjusting to the climate here.”

“Is that why you’ve eaten so little?” De Sardet eyed Constantin’s plate: where Kurt had cleaned his with his usual speed, and de Sardet herself had nearly finished her meal, Constantin looked as if he had pushed most of the food around his plate.

“I’ve had little appetite since we’ve landed,” he admitted. “A little nausea, a little upset stomach…but I am sure it will pass quickly enough! The doctors here tell me it is normal after such a long voyage.”

“I haven’t had any difficulties,” de Sardet objected. “Neither has Kurt, for that matter.”

“I’m sure Kurt has a cast-iron stomach, and you’ve always had an excellent constitution, my dear cousin! Alas, I do not enjoy such rude health. Even as children, you know that I always had a more delicate nature.”

Kurt snorted, and the look in his eyes was enough to give his opinion on the matter, but de Sardet knew better: Constantin was right. “He’s right, Kurt,” she offered, and Constantin beamed at her as she backed him. “I cannot ever remember being ill as a child…or, if I was, I was never ill for very long. Even when it seemed that half the children in the palace had redspots, I escaped.”

“Where I was covered from head to foot, and those wretched doctors wrapped my hands so I could not scratch,” Constantin lamented.

“It was for your own good,” de Sardet reminded him. “If you had not, you would certainly have scratched off your spots, and then you’d have scars.”

“Like Philippe de Courtenay,” Constantin agreed, shuddering. “You are right. Even the healing potions weren’t enough to prevent him from scarring. I’m sure he couldn’t wait until he was old enough to grow a beard…especially given that he is generally so unattractive that the more of his face is covered, the better.”

At seeing the reproof on his cousin’s face, he added, “Come, now, you will call me unkind, but you know I am right! Sir de Courtenay may be many things, but handsome is not one of them. Do you know, his uncle Lionel preceded you as legate? Another unwanted scion of a noble house, cast off to Teer Fradee to get them out of the way.”

De Sardet had spoken to Sir de Courcillon and Lady de Morange about her predecessor; like her household servants, they had little good to say about him. _A layabout wastrel, fonder of dinner parties and drinking than of seeing to his duties…a man who did the bare minimum required of him, often only when Lady de Morange was looking over his shoulder…one who saw the natives as savages and had nothing to do with them, whose only interests were in the Bridge Alliance and Theleme._ “You are hardly Lionel de Courtenay,” she told him. “From what Sir de Courcillon and Lady de Morange have said, Sir de Courtenay was never particularly talented; he made it a point in life to squander his life. Your father sent you here because he knew you were capable of doing great things, not because he wished to hide you away.”

“I fear you flatter me, cousin.”

“I do no such thing,” de Sardet insisted. “You are talented, and brilliant as well. Your father will see it, and so will you.”

Constantin frowned, pushing his food around the plate with his fork. “I wish I had half as much faith in myself.” He set down his fork and knife, pressing a hand to his mouth. “It seems even the mention of my father is enough to make me queasy.”

“Are you sure it’s the conversation?” Worry clouded de Sardet’s face. “Are you employing a taster?”

“Yes,” said Constantin, shooting a look at Kurt. “A certain captain of my guard insisted, although I told him it was entirely unnecessary. We are not on the continent, you know!”

“It is a reasonable precaution,” Kurt replied.

“Is it? You haven’t hired a taster for my lovely cousin.”

“There’s no need. I’ve been doing that job myself.”

De Sardet was surprised and touched, but before she could say anything, Constantin burst into laughter. “Now there’s a fine excuse if I’ve heard one. You get to help yourself to all the choicest dishes in the legate’s mansion. I’m sure you insist on taking all the best portions.”

Kurt didn’t react; instead, he took another bite of his food and said, “Anything she eats, I eat first. Same goes for drink. No matter what.”

Glancing at Kurt’s plate, de Sardet realized that he was right: even here, he’d taken at least a small portion of anything she’d chosen. _He eats so quickly…is that because he feels as if he has to taste everything before I have the chance? Or does he speak with the cook before the meal, and sample everything then?_

“You don’t have to do that,” she began.

“You can hardly object to it when you want the same done for Constantin,” he said.

“But…you already do so much to protect me. You shouldn’t have to risk being poisoned.”

“You give him too much credit, cousin. There’s no risk,” Constantin said breezily. “Who would poison you? Or me, for that matter? Sir de Courcillon is my father’s creature, and while Lady de Morange may wish to be governor, she knows my father would not consider reappointing her to the post, particularly not if we perished in suspicious circumstances.” He brightened. “But you are right – it isn’t the Coin Guard’s place to protect against poison. So if you would prefer to allow me to fire my own taster…”

“No,” de Sardet said quickly. “I want you to be safe, Constantin. If you’re already feeling unwell, it seems to me that we should at least do all we can to guard against poison. While I do not believe that Lady de Morange or Sir de Courcillon bear any malice toward either of us, I do not know all your ministers and courtiers as well as I should like…and neither do you, for that matter. Why should you be so eager to abandon your defenses?”

“Because it reminds me of Serene,” Constantin replied. “I would much rather mold our kingdom here into one that is nothing like the one we left behind. Let us abandon my father’s paranoia, my mother’s poisons, and all the affairs and intrigues of the court…so that we can create something new, something amazing, in this new world!”

“I would feel better about doing so once we understand this new world better,” de Sardet replied. “Let’s make sure we’ve truly left all of that behind. As soon as you’re feeling better, we can reconsider all of this, but…”

“But of course,” Constantin said. He lifted his wine-glass to his lips, looking pointedly at Kurt. “Does that satisfy you?”

“It’s as Green Blood says. I’ll be happier when I know everyone here, and have reason to believe they won’t try to kill you out of hand.” Kurt gave him a deadpan look. “Though I would appreciate it if you’d try not to give them reasons.”

“Who would ever want to harm me? As attractive and charming as I am, can you name a single enemy of mine, personally? Not my father’s, or my mother’s, or the Congregation’s, but someone who would wish me harm because of something I have said or done.”

“Atherton d’Ailes,” Kurt replied immediately. De Sardet had to smile: he’d spoken so quickly, and so unhesitatingly, that Constantin’s shocked reaction was comic.

“Well – perhaps—but he provoked that duel, if I’ll remind you—”

“Phillipe de Courtenay. Margot d’Amboise. Jean-Robert de Chatillon. Bastien d’Arcy. Marguerite de Brossard. Loic de Vere. Elizabet—”

“All right, all right,” Constantin said, holding up his hands in mock surrender as de Sardet smiled. “Perhaps there are a few of my peers who were not charmed by my shining personality. But none of them are here on New Serene.”

“That we know of,” Kurt said. “And if you don’t refrain from making new enemies, well…”

“Anything for the excuse to remain as food taster to my fair cousin? I’d imagine it’s more pleasant than most of your usual duties, but I must insist that it is entirely unnecessary.”

“And I must insist that it is not,” de Sardet said. She turned her best pleading look on him. “I know you feel it unnecessary, but I would rather do all I can to keep you safe. What if I failed? What would I tell your father?”

“It would not be your failure,” Constantin said. “It is not your duty to protect me! That failure would be our overzealous captain’s…though I cannot imagine that my father would truly care. He might insist on taking a few heads for appearances’ sake, but I do not believe he would feel anything.”

“Given that my head would be one of the ones on the chopping block, I don’t think I’m being overzealous,” Kurt said. “Glad to know you care so little about my neck, sir.”

“ _I_ care,” de Sardet said. “About both of you. It’s such a small measure, Constantin, please endure the inconvenience, if only for my sake.” 

“You know I can refuse you nothing,” Constantin said. “Even if I believe this measure entirely unwarranted, the unnecessary exercise of authority by the captain of my guard…” He paused. “But, speaking of captains…tell me, where is the enchanting Captain Vasco? He isn’t feeling ill, is he?”

“No,” said de Sardet. “At least, I don’t believe so.”

“He had business with the Nauts,” Kurt volunteered. It was a lie, but one that prevented Constantin from prying further; he only let out a disappointed sigh.

“It’s too bad. I would have enjoyed his company. You will let him know he is missed, will you not?”

“Of course,” de Sardet promised. She wondered what Vasco would think when she told him. _Ordinarily, I would tell Constantin anything…but this is not my secret to tell, and as much as it pains me to think it, I do not know if I can trust him to remain silent._ She knew that Constantin’s enthusiasm often led to indiscretion, and he did not always consider others’ secrets to be of the greatest importance. It felt odd: it was rare for her to keep anything from Constantin, and she could count the number of occasions when she’d kept her own counsel on one hand. Yet she knew that she owed that to Vasco, who would not want word of their investigations to spread throughout the city. _It would not go well for me, either,_ she thought. _Dressing as a Naut, sneaking into their warehouses…I am sure Admiral Cabral would not appreciate my efforts, especially given the Nauts’ penchant for secrecy. I would not wish to be the cause of any rupture between our peoples._ So she kept Vasco's secret from Constantin, and carefully avoided referencing any trip to the Port Quarter or their exploits there.

After dinner, they returned to the legate’s house that night. “I’ll bid the captain good night, if he’s still awake,” she told Kurt. “Good night.”

“Good night, Green Blood,” said Kurt. He turned to go, but she hesitated.

“Have you really been tasting my food?”

“Of course.” Kurt looked slightly uncomfortable. “Whatever your cousin thinks, it isn’t about getting the first serving, or—”

“I know that,” she interrupted. “Constantin was being ridiculous. You know how he gets when he’s not feeling well.” Her face fell. “It worries me.”

“I’ve spoken to Lady de Morange about the taster. She agrees with your cousin, but I don’t think we can be too cautious, not until we’ve had a chance to get to know everyone here. I’ve reviewed the palace guard, but I don’t know them the same way I did the men in Serene, and I don’t know about half these courtiers. I trust Major Sieglinde, but she’s been away from Serene for five years now. That’s enough time to forget how dangerous that hornet’s nest of a palace can be, and Lady de Morange isn’t half the target for assassination that either of you are.”

“I agree,” said de Sardet. “But…I wish you would find someone else to serve as my taster. You already do so much to protect us. If someone poisoned you because they were trying to assassinate me, I don’t know how I’d bear it.”

“Would you like me to ask the Naut?”

That drew a laugh from de Sardet, and she saw the laughter in Kurt’s eyes as she answered. “I don’t think he’d take well to that suggestion.”

“I don’t know what else that admiral expects you’ll do with him. A sailor without a boat, what good is that to a legate?”

“Kurt,” she chided him, but good-naturedly.

"I'm not saying it to be unkind. What good would I be to you if you took my sword from me? I'd be just as useless aboard a boat. He's a regular fish out of water here." 

"He helped us fight those guards," she pointed out. "And I am sure he will be invaluable if we have any diplomatic concerns with the Nauts." She shook her head. "I won't ask him to act as my taster." 

"I didn't expect you would." 

"I don't want you doing it, either." 

“It's no trouble," Kurt insisted. "Think of it this way, Green Blood. I’m eating all the same food you are anyway. Do you really want to hire a taster to eat the food for both of us?”

“I don't care. I don't want you to feel that you have to do this," she insisted. "I cannot ask the cook, but there must be another way." The cook tasted the food while cooking as part of preparing it, of course, but cooks never served as tasters, to ward against the possibility that a particularly corrupt cook might find a way to poison the food after it had been tasted. Such incidents were not entirely unheard-of in Serene, and there were accounts of both near-misses and successful assassinations that had occurred because a cook had been bribed. "I'll ask the butler." 

“I doubt that’ll please him. He thinks I’ve already gotten above my place. Eating at the governor’s palace like a lord, sitting at your table, sleeping in a fine suite of my own—”

De Sardet frowned. “I’ll speak to him.” She had noticed the butler’s high-handedness with both Kurt and Vasco, and his disapproval when she’d insisted on having them both assigned rooms near her own. _You would think that I’d asked for all three of us to share the same bed._

“You don’t have to do that, Green Blood. I’m used to men looking down their noses at a rough-edged mercenary like me, and I’d wager the sailor's used to it too. Plenty of men see service in either of our guilds as one step above working in the Coin brothel.”

“He has no right,” she insisted, indignant. “If you’d prefer, I won’t speak to him about his treatment of you both – but I will insist that he take over the role of taster.”

“If that’s what you want,” Kurt said. “I can’t imagine he’ll take it well.”

“I don’t care. If he’d prefer, he can work at the palace, and I’ll find a butler who respects you both. I’m sure Lady de Morange can recommend someone.”

“I’d say if you’re going to replace him, replace him, but don’t make him your food taster before you do,” Kurt advised. “Not unless you want me to worry about your new taster poisoning us both.” He nodded to her. “Good night, Green Blood.”

Kurt went up, and de Sardet found Vasco in the parlor, curled up on a sofa with a leather-bound book in one hand. _Love and the Sea_ , she read, looking at the golden letters embossed on the spine. De Sardet recognized the title: it was a collection of poetry, gathered from a number of noblemen who’d set out on one of the first expeditions to Teer Fradee. _Mother said that Father contributed a few poems to the volume, but would never tell me which._ She had never been fond of poetry herself, but as a child had pored over the work, wondering which of the poems had been written by her father.

“Captain Vasco,” she said, startling him; as she did, she noticed the empty flagon on the table at his side.

In his surprise, Vasco had nearly knocked his goblet over, giving de Sardet a moment’s fright – until she realized that the goblet was empty, save for a few lingering droplets. “De Sardet,” he said, and the slight slur to his voice made her think that he’d spent the night drinking.

“I hope you had a pleasant evening,” she said. “Constantin asked after you.”

“He did, did he?” Vasco looked chagrined.

“He hopes you are well. I told him you were feeling indisposed.”

Vasco snorted. “By tomorrow morning, it’ll be true enough.” He paused. “It’s a fool’s errand, drinking to forget – especially when you can’t forget what you never knew.”

“Léandre d’Arcy,” he said without being prompted. “Léandre d’Arcy, second son of Florian and Lisette, aged nine months when the contract was signed and sealed. I don’t remember anything of my life in Serene, of course; I was too damned young.”

He swept a hand at the bookshelves that lined the walls, the finely-upholstered furniture, the rich carpets imported from the Bridge Alliance, the silver candlesticks from Theleme. “I might have grown up with this. The son of a wealthy merchant, never lacking for anything, surrounded by the best of everything. Instead, I was handed to the Nauts before I could walk, and I spent my childhood growing up in a communal barracks on our island.”

“We Nauts don’t have parents,” he said. “We have instructors, teachers who are Nauts too old or too badly wounded to serve aboard ship. Oh, a mother might stay with her child for the first year or so of life, time enough to wean them, and a parent might find the time to visit a sea-born child while they’re on shore leave, but for a sea-given…I had no family of my own. No mother, no father, no brother. Oh, all Nauts are siblings, but I would not have called any of my childhood brothers and sisters my family in the way that you and your cousin are.”

“We’ve nothing to call our own, not really. Secondhand clothes that have been worn by half a dozen children before us and will be worn by another half-dozen after, toys that are shared between us…all we have to call our own is our bunk, and that’s little enough.” Resentment colored his voice. “To know that I could have grown up with a room like the one I’m staying in now…a suite of rooms, Constantin said…new clothes, toys, a family who would have loved me, the way I always dreamed of…” His eyes grew watery. “That’s what I wanted. A family.”

She sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Do you wish you were never given to the Nauts?”

“How could I not be regretful? I never got to experience a mother’s love or a lavish youth,” he said, and she heard the envy in his voice. “I should have been Sir Léandre d’Arcy, but instead I am Captain Vasco of the Nauts, without a surname, a family, or a fortune…and I will never know the man I might have been.”

“I am genuinely sorry you did not get to live the life you were supposed to live,” she told him. _Would Léandre d’Arcy have become my friend? Would he have become Constantin’s?_ The two men had obviously gotten along during their time on the _Sea Horse_ , and she couldn’t help but think of how much Constantin could have used another friend.

“It is not your fault, de Sardet,” he reassured her. “I presume it was destiny…you were supposed to be a princess, and I was supposed to be a sailor.”

“Do you believe in destiny?”

“Yes. All sailors believe in fate, I think,” said Vasco, surprised. “Why? Do you not?”

“No.”

“Yet there are things in life that happen to us that we cannot control. Terrible things,” he said. “No one would choose them, but they happen, and they are entirely out of our power to control. Why do those things happen, if not fate?”

De Sardet couldn’t help but think of her mother. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “But I must believe that we have the power to shape our own destiny. We cannot always change the things that happen to us, however terrible…but we can choose how we react.”

Vasco gave a darkly ironic look at his empty goblet. “How we react,” he echoed. “Do I want to know what you think of me?”

“I do not think less of you,” she reassured him. “I cannot imagine what it must be like for you. To be taken from your family at such a young age, before you could even remember them…to be raised into such a life that is so wholly different from the one you might have led…and to know you had no choice at all in the matter, yet it has shaped the person you are today…how could you not be upset? How could you not wonder what might have been?”

“I would have preferred to choose my own destiny. I wish I could have made my own fate. To know that the choice was taken from me…it hurts terribly,” he confessed. “To wonder what it might have been like to be Sir Léandre…that I might have had a brother who was as close to me as you are to Constantin…a mother who I might have loved as much as you love your own…a family instead of a crew…I went to sea before I was twelve, and served aboard three different ships before I was eighteen. My first captain was a good man, the second a decent enough woman, but they were sea captains, not parents. And the third…” He shuddered as he remembered the feeling of the lash on his back. _Two years of hell under Captain Manuel, or near enough as made no difference._ “Curse that man to the depths, that was no place for a boy to grow up. But whether aboard my first ship or my third, I never felt as if I had a family or a home.”

“I am truly sorry,” de Sardet repeated. She could only think of her mother’s love: the way she’d icily shut down any remarks about her birthmark, the kindness and understanding she’d lavished on her daughter, the hours they’d spent together. _She always took an interest in anything that interested me._ When Alexandra de Sardet had wanted to learn how to dance, her mother had engaged the best masters, and spent time showing her the steps that had been popular when she was a girl; when Alexandra had showed her talent for magic, Jeanne de Sardet made sure that she had the best tutors, as well as her choice of a good-quality magical ring and necklace. _She always made sure I was keeping up with my studies, gave me encouragement when I despaired, made time for me even when distracted by her own duties._ Most of all, Jeanne de Sardet had protected her daughter as best she could, both from the court at large and from her aunt and uncle. _I know that my uncle could be cruel, but he was never harsh with me._ Augustin d’Orsay had rarely taken note of her; when he did, he was certainly strict and always exacting, but she had never experienced the full force of his wrath. _My aunt was certainly cruel, but my mother was always there to protect me._

The thought made her pity Vasco – and Kurt as well, she realized, who had grown up with a similarly difficult childhood. _Constantin’s parents were difficult, and I know that he might say that he would have traded them in exchange for being an orphan, but I do not think he would have traded our family entire._ Her mother had always been kind to Constantin, and she could not imagine a world where Constantin would have agreed to exchange his friendship with her for a carefree existence as a Naut. _He would be glad to be rid of his parents, but I cannot imagine him ever saying that he would abandon me._

“That’s what’s worst,” Vasco said. He set the empty goblet next to the flagon, then sat, staring at his hands. “I’m not the sort to require wealth. Having a private cabin as captain is a fine thing, but I was never one to waste my salary on luxuries. But having lost the chance at a family—to know what that would have been like, and to be left with my memories of the barracks and our island instead—you know, I’ve never liked being ashore. Even on our island,” he said abruptly. “I snuck aboard Captain Tomas’s ship when I was ten because I didn’t want to stay ashore any longer. It wasn’t the life I wanted to live.” He sighed. “They brought me back, of course, but he remembered me. It’s usual for cabin boys to be appointed at twelve, but he took me on early.”

“If I’d been Léandre d’Arcy, would I have felt the same way? Or would I have been happy with the life I’d been given? I don’t think I’d ever have thought of running off to sea, but…what if I would have been happier as a noble? What if I don’t even know what I’ve lost? All I can do is imagine…imagine what might have been, instead of growing up scrubbing decks and mending sails.”

The life he was describing seemed so unutterably bleak that de Sardet didn’t want to imagine it. _Growing up in a barracks with dozens of other children, but having no friends…at least, no one who was as close as I am with Constantin…never knowing what it was to be loved…never having any possessions to call your own…_ Again, she felt a wave of pity for both Vasco and Kurt, and another pang of guilt for never having considered it before. She remembered the scars on Vasco’s back. _And then, to run away to sea, only to be placed under the command of a captain who was so very cruel…_ De Sardet was amazed that Vasco had not become entirely embittered by the experience. _He may seem unhappy at times, but how could he not be? Especially now, when his admiral has sent him ashore to have him live here; that cannot help but remind him of everything he has lost._

“Don’t you have any happy memories?” she asked.

“I do,” Vasco replied, clearly taken aback by the question. “Of course I do…for example, I remember the first time I climbed up the shrouds. The incredible view, the dizziness, and the sensation of complete freedom! It was an unforgettable moment.” His voice shone with wonder, and de Sardet could almost imagine herself there, looking out at a boundless horizon.

“I can only imagine how you felt, but it sounds amazing,” she told him, and meant it.

“It was,” he said, and sighed with nostalgia. “I wouldn’t trade that memory for all the gold in the world.”

“I would hope that isn’t the only one.”

“It isn’t,” he said. “I have always loved the sea. As a boy, I would sneak aboard the ships that were docked in the harbor whenever I could, and ask the crew to show me around. There were a few of them who were fond of us…bilge rats, they called us, but it was affectionate. There was one, a sailor by the name of Fabrizio, who taught me how to tie my first sailor’s knot. And when I first snuck aboard the _Narwhal’s Horn_ , Crista, their navigator, let me help her steer the ship.”

“There are things I’ve seen at sea that you’d never see on shore. A pod of dolphins chasing the ship…whales breaching the water…a mermaid, or so Lauro claimed. Flavia says he was just drunk. I’ve known Flavia since I was eleven; we served aboard our first ship together, and the winds blew us back together by the time I first came to the _Sea Horse_.”

“It sounds as if you’ve had adventures, and led an interesting life,” de Sardet offered.

“‘An interesting life,’” Vasco repeated. “Isn’t that a Bridger curse?” But he smiled. “I may not have had a family of my own, but I have a crew. I might not have known a mother’s love or a lavish youth, but you are right: there are certainly experiences I’ve had aboard ship that I would never have had as a noble. Climbing the shrouds…I remember that day aboard ship when your cousin got it into his head to follow.”

“I am glad he changed his mind. He would never have made it.”

“And yet I made that climb before I was half his age,” said Vasco. “A noble would never have been allowed to do it.”

De Sardet thought of Constantin scaling the walls of Serene and nodded. “It would have been far too dangerous.”

“And I would never have been in the position to have the chance,” he agreed, nodding. “I would never have set foot aboard a ship. The voyage to Teer Fradee was your first time at sea, was it not?”

De Sardet nodded.

“To never know what it is like to see the waves, or watch the sun set after a storm, when the whole sky is red with fire…to never stare up into the darkness and see a pure night sky set with stars, without the sky being clouded with fog and smoke…to never have fallen asleep on a hot night abovedeck, sleeping on a hammock and listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the ship…those are indeed memories I’m grateful for,” Vasco admitted. “Not to mention those that have made me who I am: sailing through that hurricane, taking command of the ship after Captain Joao was killed and First Mate Hernan wounded and half-dead…there are hardships that have tried me sorely, but without them, I wouldn’t be the man I am today.”

“You do not rise through the ranks so quickly without seeing hardship, and I’ve experienced several eventful voyages that enabled me to become a captain years before I could have expected it.” A wistful look came over his face. “I love the _Sea Horse_ , I truly do. Even if I could have all the rest of it: a title, wealth, parents…would it be worth surrendering my ship and giving up my crew? What sort of captain would I be if I said yes?”

De Sardet didn’t answer, but Vasco didn’t seem to expect her to. He looked up at her, golden eyes meeting her blue ones, and she saw no animosity or resentment in them. “Thank you, de Sardet. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered, though she didn’t feel as if she deserved any of the credit. _I only expressed my sympathies and asked a few questions._ “Have a good night, Captain.”

“Please, call me Vasco,” he said. “Not because I am questioning my rank or my place as a Naut…but because I’d like to be friends. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted…you’ve given me so much, and my ingratitude…”

“No,” she said, stopping him. “Please, don’t. There’s no need. I understand how you feel, and why.”

“I think you do at that. Thank you, de Sardet.”

She nodded. “Good night, Vasco.”


	36. Siora

After that night, Vasco was a good deal friendlier to de Sardet than he had been before: while he might be wrestling with issues of identity, he no longer held those issues against her.

“I think you’ve made a friend, Green Blood,” Kurt told her as they practiced one morning.

“You seem to be getting along with him as well,” she responded as Kurt dodged a burst of shadow.

“I didn’t like how he treated you. Now that he’s come to his senses…” Kurt lunged, and she got a magical shield up in time to block him.

“Come to his senses?” De Sardet pivoted away, and they circled each other, each looking for an opening.

“He’d have to be mad to hate you. After all you’ve done for him—” Kurt feinted, and de Sardet moved back.

“He’s helped me,” de Sardet reminded him. “He altered those records for us in Serene, and then helped us find those crates here.”

“After you helped him find that cabin boy. I’d say you were even before he had us break into the harbor master’s office for that file.”

“I haven’t been keeping score.”

“I know you haven’t. You’d help anyone if they asked. You’ve always been generous.” Even as Kurt spoke, he was slightly slow dodging de Sardet’s next spell; it glanced off his shoulder plate, and she started forward in alarm.

“Kurt! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It seems you’re a regular champion of the arena,” he said, rotating his shoulder as he shook off the effects of the spell. De Sardet wasn’t casting at full strength, and she knew even a blow that hadn’t been deflected wouldn’t have seriously hurt him, but she couldn’t help worrying.

“I wouldn’t be half as successful in the arena without you,” she said.

He snorted. “Flatterer. I can’t believe that stupid name they’ve given us.”

It made her smile. “De Sardet and the Excellencies.”

“You’re the only Excellency among us, but that hasn’t stopped Alaric. Though the name suits the sailor better than we knew. His Excellency, Léandre d’Arcy.”

“I know he’s made inquiries,” said de Sardet. “The d’Arcy family apparently has business interests on the island. I know he’s looking into whether or not there are any members of the family he might be able to meet…or, if not, at least some family acquaintances who might help him learn about House d’Arcy.”

“Do you think they’d welcome him back?”

“I don’t know,” de Sardet admitted. “The Fontaines are the exception. Most families disavow their sea-given children. But I cannot imagine giving a child away and not caring about what might become of them.”

“I can imagine plenty of nobles who’d be willing to do it,” said Kurt. “Do you think your uncle would care about giving Constantin away if he had a son who could take his place?”

“I would like to think my uncle cares more than Constantin is willing to admit,” said de Sardet. “My aunt, on the other hand…she has never cared for Constantin, except as a symbol of her own power.” She grew sad. “Most members of the nobility are not like my mother.”

Kurt sheathed his sword. “She loves you, Green Blood. She’d be happy you’re settling in here so well.”

“I wish we had news. I know that it’s too early, but I keep hoping that she might have written a letter and sent it on the next ship bound for the island.”

“Would you like to go to the palace and check? There probably won’t be anything, but I seem to recall you saying you had business there anyway.”

“Only the usual,” she replied as they headed into the house. “I planned to call upon Sir de Courcillon and Constantin, to see if there was any business that needed to be attended to, and perhaps speak to Constantin about my upcoming journeys to San Matheus and Hikmet. Both the Mother Cardinal and Governor Burhan have sent Constantin letters speaking of his arrival on the island and asking after the new legate, and I will need to pay a visit to each of them to pay them his respects, and to introduce myself properly.”

“Which city do you plan on visiting first? And when do you want to leave?”

“I thought we’d depart within the week,” she said. “I hope that Vasco will agree to come with us.”

“I don’t think he sees himself as having a choice in the matter,” Kurt replied. “His admiral told him to follow you. Besides, what’s he going to do here, all alone in the legate’s house?”

“I don’t know,” de Sardet admitted. “Even so, I’d like to give him the choice.”

“The choice of what?” Vasco asked, meeting them in the hallway.

“Of whether or not you’d like to accompany me to San Matheus and Hikmet, when I have to present myself to the governors of those cities.”

“I’ve told you, I’m at your service, de Sardet.”

“I told her you didn’t have anything better to do,” said Kurt. “Though you could always keep Constantin company at the palace.”

“Are you going to go with her?” Vasco asked.

“What do you think? I’m not about to send her out into the wilderness alone.”

“As captain of the palace guard, I thought that your duties might keep you in New Serene,” Vasco replied. “Keeping Constantin company.”

“I have a duty to His Highness, but I can give orders to the men to keep him safe,” said Kurt. “I’m the only guard Green Blood has.” He looked worried. “I hope he’ll give me permission to accompany you to those cities.”

“I’m sure he will,” said de Sardet. “If you want to come. If you feel your duty is here…”

“I have standing orders for your protection as well as Constantin’s. You may have distinguished yourself in that arena, but I wouldn’t want you to go into the wilderness alone, any more than I’d want you fighting in that arena on your own.”

“She was a champion before she involved either of us,” Vasco reminded him.

“I don’t care.” Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t like you going into that arena anyway, but I hated it when you were in there alone.”

De Sardet had to smile: Vasco had told her of Kurt’s plans to rescue her if the fight had gone the other way, and she’d been touched by his concern for her life. _Constantin would say that he’s our guard, and it’s his duty to protect us, but that went beyond professional concern or the obligations of duty._ “I would not want to go in alone again,” she said. “But you must admit, it seems it was worth it, at least as far as our relations with the natives are concerned – and I would do it again, if only to save that poor man’s life.” Lugh had returned to his village, but his cousin greeted de Sardet in the street with a bright, “Oh, it’s you, _on ol menawi_!” every time she passed.

“Speaking of which, you’ll be glad to know I saw Luther and Gunter’s names were both back on the duty roster as of yesterday,” said Kurt. “They’ve both fully recovered from that fight.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said de Sardet, and meant it. _I would not have wanted anyone to die from that misunderstanding._ “Let me get cleaned up, and we’ll head to the palace.”

“I’ll do the same,” said Kurt.

 _I think I finally am settling into life here,_ de Sardet thought as she changed and got ready to go to the palace. _Visiting San Matheus and Hikmet will be exciting, but I’m sure I’ll return to New Serene soon enough._

With Kurt and Vasco in tow, de Sardet made her way to Orsay Square. She was starting up the steps of the palace when she heard the shouting of someone behind her. Turning, she startled to see a native woman. It was like looking through a distorted mirror: the woman had a crown of branches, but there was a striking resemblance between them. She even had the same birthmark on her face, though it was on the right side of her cheek instead of the left.

As she began to ascend the steps, she heard the woman calling out to her in the natives’ language; she attempted to follow, but the guards stopped her. As de Sardet turned, she saw the woman gesturing to the guards, speaking rapidly.

One of the palace guards looked back at her, and she called out, “Attention, soldier!”

“Let me pass,” the woman said in the common language of the continent. “I must see the chief of your village!”

The guard who’d glanced back at de Sardet started to snicker, and the woman leaned back to look at him, angry. “Whatever could be so funny?”

“Now who would you be to seek an audience with the governor?”

“I am Siora, daughter of Bladnid. My mother is a mal, the chief of our clan. I am here as an emissary of my people, and I must see your chief – governor,” she corrected herself, glowering at the still-smirking guard.

De Sardet heard the desperation in her voice, and the determination, and decided to wipe the smirk from the man’s face. “So you are a princess, then?” she declared, in a tone that was not a question at all.

“A what?” Siora looked baffled.

De Sardet raised her voice. “Let her pass! Your Majesty, I shall present you to the governor. Come!”

The guards obeyed; they pulled their halberds back, allowing Siora to pass.

“Princess? Majesty? You are most confusing…but thank you for your help,” Siora said, catching up with her.

“You are an emissary of your people, you said?”

“Yes. I am from the clan of the red spears, of the village of Vedrhais.” Siora stared at her, and de Sardet found herself staring back: Siora was shorter than she was, her hair a few shades lighter, her eyes moss-green instead of bright blue, but the resemblance was still striking, even if Siora had that strange crown of branches, as well as a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. 

_The color of our skin, our features, our build…we look as if we might be related._ De Sardet had never seen anyone look so similar to her. Most striking was the marking they shared, the green, textured pattern of the skin that ran from cheek to neck.

“You could be sisters, Green Blood,” Kurt said; he too was staring.

“Green Blood,” Siora repeated, tilting her head. “This is your…name?”

De Sardet had to laugh. “It is a nickname,” she said. “My name is Alexandra. I am Lady de Sardet, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee.”

“Alexandra Lady de Sardet,” Siora repeated.

“Please, call me de Sardet. Or Alexandra. Legate and lady are both titles.”

Siora frowned. “Your names are very long, and strange.”

“Not all of them,” said Kurt. “I’m Kurt. This is Vasco.”

“Kurt, Vasco.” Siora looked at them. “You are one of the _bod airni_. And you are a _moridigen_.” 

Kurt shrugged, but Vasco nodded. “ _Bod airni_ is one of their words for soldiers. Iron-backs, I think it is. And _moridigen_ is what they call the Nauts, though I don’t know what it means.”

“You know Yecht Fradi?” Siora asked.

“A little. My first ship took an expedition from Theleme to the island, back when they were scouting the site for their settlement at San Matheus. I was just a cabin boy then, but I went ashore with a landing party, and we met some islanders who wanted to trade. I’ve always had an aptitude for tongues, and I tried to get them to teach me what they could, but I’m afraid I don’t know very much of your language.”

“You know more than either of us,” Kurt told him.

“Captain Vasco is a captain of the Nauts,” de Sardet said. “He is on detached duty at present, helping me with my own duties. And Captain Kurt is a captain of the Coin Guard. He is the captain of the guard here, and protects me, along with my cousin, Governor d’Orsay.”

“Governor d’Orsay,” Siora repeated. “We heard there was a new _mal_ in your village.”

“We arrived only a few weeks ago,” de Sardet said. “I am a legate – an emissary – from the Congregation to your people, and to the peoples of Hikmet and San Matheus.”

“You must help us. I must speak with this governor.”

“We are going to see him now. Come with me.”

Constantin was standing in his throne room when they arrived; he sprang forward when he saw them. “There you are, dear cousin! What is this…who is this amazing person in your company?” His eyes lit up as he saw Siora, and de Sardet saw him staring at her appreciatively.

“I am Siora, daughter of Bladnid, daughter of Meb. My mother is the _mal_ , the chief of our clan.”

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, Siora!” Constantin’s gaze drifted to de Sardet. “This is amazing, you look so much alike you could be related…” He shook his head. “If you will forgive me, I have a mission for my cousin…”

With his usual enthusiasm, he gave de Sardet her first real mission as legate: to visit the governors of Hikmet and San Matheus to give them his regards, and to see if they’d made any inroads in discovering a cure for the malichor. Siora listened with ever-increasing impatience, until at last she broke in. “Forgive me, _mal_ , but I have a request for you.” She lowered her eyes respectfully, but kept darting up to look to Constantin. “My people need your help.”

“I thought we might discuss matters at leisure, but…please, speak your piece,” Constantin said, obviously taken aback at the interruption, but not offended. From his open admiration, de Sardet suspected that his desire to get to know her better might not have been about wanting to know more about her mission.

“The lions…the Bridge Alliance and my people are at war. My mother has sent me to you in search of allies. I fear that without your help, our clan will suffer great horrors. We have already lost so many souls.”

“Hmm…this seems a sensible request…you know though we cannot go to war with our neighbors…” Constantin frowned, and de Sardet knew he had to be torn between the reality of the situation and his desire to be the hero to a beautiful princess who had sought his aid.

“Perhaps there is a way to negotiate a cease-fire, the time to see things more clearly?” she suggested.

“Excellent idea!” Constantin gave her a grateful smile. “I would be completely lost without you. Go and parley with the, uh, queen, dear cousin…try to put an end to confrontations for the time being.”

“I will go with you,” Siora said. “It will take more than one person to convince my mother to lay down our weapons.”

“Perfect! Take Kurt along with you, and anyone you feel useful; I’ve been told the roads are not safe,” he cautioned her. “Safe travels, dear cousin! And watch out for yourself. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I will take both Kurt and Captain Vasco,” she promised. “But we will travel to Vedrhais before we go to San Matheus or Hikmet. If this battle is imminent, it should supersede all our other concerns.”

“Do whatever you think best. You know I trust you completely. I had hoped to invite you to supper tonight, but it seems you will be involved in preparations for your departure…if you do not leave immediately, that is.”

“I can hardly rush out the city gates without having packed,” de Sardet replied. “I am sure it will take time to arrange for the pack animals, camping equipment, and the necessary supplies.”

“We must hurry,” Siora said. “My mother is preparing for battle as we speak.”

“We will leave as soon as we can,” de Sardet promised her. “I hope that by the time the sun has risen tomorrow, we will be on the road to your village.”

“Thank you, _on ol menawi_.” The relief on Siora’s face was evident.

“I hope that we can stop this battle,” said Constantin. “I do not like to think of our allies in the Bridge making enemies of the natives before we have ever had the chance to meet them!” He paused. “Would you like to take anyone from the Coin Guard with you, cousin? Aside from Kurt, I mean.”

“I think not. We are going to negotiate a ceasefire; showing up with soldiers would only antagonize the natives. Siora knows the area, and Kurt, Vasco, and I can all defend ourselves.”

“I wish I could go with you. I would love to see more of this splendid island!” Constantin looked again to Siora. “And its people, of course.”

“Perhaps we will be able to join you for dinner tonight,” de Sardet suggested. “If we cannot, then it may be possible when we return.”

“Of course,” said Constantin. “As soon as you have returned, we will celebrate the ceasefire between the Bridge and your clan, Princess Siora.”

“I hope you are right,” Siora said. “Thank you, _mal_.”

Sir de Courcillon approached, accompanied by a pair of functionaries, and Constantin sighed. “Another meeting of endless tedium. I wonder what it is this time. I will see you later,” he promised. “Send word if you can join me for dinner; I will not expect you, but I hope you will come.”

“I will make every effort,” de Sardet promised.

“Farewell!” Constantin called after her.

“There’s a great deal to do, if we’re to leave by dawn tomorrow,” said Kurt.

“Do you think we can get everything ready in time?” Vasco asked.

“How long is it to your village, Siora?”

“It is not far. Only a few hours’ journey.”

“And you came alone? Despite what Constantin says about the roads being unsafe?”

“The roads may be unsafe for _renaigse_ , but I am a _doneigad_ , and I know how to defend myself,” Siora answered. “I know the paths our animals take, and how to avoid them; I know when they rest and when they hunt. There were _renaigse_ on the road looking to rob travelers, but they never saw me; I left the road and kept to the shadows when I saw them.”

“With a wagon, we won’t have that option,” Kurt warned her.

“If it’s only a few hours afoot, we could go without a wagon, couldn’t we?” Vasco asked.

“No,” Kurt said flatly. “You’re not used to marching with a forty-pound ruck on your back, and neither is Green Blood – and that’s before considering we might well have to fight while carting all of that. I’ve seen you fight; you rely on speed and agility. You’ll lose that if you cart your supplies on your back.”

“Do we _need_ supplies for such a short journey?”

“You don’t walk into the wilderness with only the clothes on your back. Even if you only expect a journey to take six hours, that’s a lot of time to get into trouble – and that’s before considering we’re heading into new territory. The pretty twig there will be our guide, but even so, I wouldn’t want to go in unprepared.”

“Kurt is right,” said de Sardet. “We don’t know how long we’ll be gone, or if we’ll have to travel from Vedrhais to meet with members of the Bridge Alliance, or what we may encounter on the roads.” She looked to Siora, explaining, “This will be the first time we have left New Serene since arriving on your island. I hope you will help me to learn everything I can while we make our preparations to leave. Tell me everything you can about your people. How did you come into conflict with the Bridge Alliance? What is your mother like? Why did you decide to come to us?”

Siora was eager to explain everything: from the Bridge Alliance’s abduction of villagers, particularly those she called _on ol menawi_ and _doneigada_ to Bladnid’s decision to declare war in defense of her people to the deaths of many of those people in the fighting, including Siora’s father.

“My mother is a warrior – the greatest warrior in our village,” she said. “She is brave, outspoken, and the strongest of us all…although she was hurt very much by my father’s death. He was the village _doneigad_ , known for his curiosity and his kindness. He was a quiet man, and was never a warrior, but my mother relied on him.”

“When did he die?” De Sardet asked quietly.

“It has been three cycles…years,” Siora corrected herself.

“I’m so sorry. My own father died before I was born; I never knew him, but my mother loved him very much.” De Sardet blinked back tears. “She always said I was his very image.”

“I also look like my father,” said Siora. “I have always been more like him, while my sister Eseld is more like our mother. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. I was my mother’s only child…at least, the only one who survived.” De Sardet thought of her mother’s grief, of the years of miscarriages and stillbirths. “She lost many children before my birth.” She paused. “But my cousin Constantin has been like a brother.”

“You seem very close.”

De Sardet nodded. “He has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I can scarcely remember a time when we’ve been apart. I could not imagine coming to Teer Fradee without him.”

“He wouldn’t have gone if you hadn’t come,” said Kurt.

“His father is the Prince of the Congregation,” said de Sardet. “I suppose you would call him our mal…though he is _mal_ of a country and not a single village.”

“He is your High King,” Siora said. “We have a High King as well, Vinbarr, though no one has seen him for many cycles. He has left each _mal_ to decide how they will face the _renaigse_. Some have decided to trade with them; some hide; some fight. _Matir_ has decided to fight.”

“I hope we can persuade her otherwise,” said de Sardet.

“If anyone can, it will be you,” Kurt said.

“I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

“When news reached us that an _on ol menawi_ had arrived with the new _mal_ , I knew you would help. Eseld said I was foolish and that it could not be, but then we heard from one of our own merchants that you were an _on ol menawi_ , and that you had helped a merchant from Vignamri when the _bod airni_ kept taking his goods.”

“That phrase you keep calling me… _on ol menawi_ ,” said de Sardet. “What does it mean?” 

Siora touched the mark on her face, then gestured to de Sardet. “It refers to this,” she said. “It is the mark that you have bonded with your land, or that one of your parents did so. Have you bonded? Are you _doneigad_? Or was it one of your parents?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said de Sardet. Despite herself, she lifted a hand to brush it, thinking of the childhood insecurities that she had thought she’d left behind. As a child, other children had mocked her for it, and her aunt d’Orsay had been known to remark about how ugly it was. Even as a teenager, the first boy she’d ever liked had been cruel about it, and she knew that others had remarked on it.

_Mother always told me not to care what they said,_ she thought. Jeanne de Sardet had refused to let her try to cover the marking with cosmetics, insisting that there was no need. She had told her daughter that she was perfect exactly the way she was, and that there was no reason for a lack of self-confidence. “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter won’t mind,” she’d told her. Constantin had proved that true: he’d acted as if he’d never noticed her mark, and had relentlessly bullied any children he caught taunting her. _He drove Sir Bastien to tears, and even Lady Isabelle stopped for a time after he got wind of what she was saying._ Kurt had been similarly kind; he’d come upon her in tears very early on in his tenure as master-at-arms, and had sat with the sobbing ten-year-old as Alexandra de Sardet had told him of the taunts and derisive nicknames that the other children at court had bestowed upon her; in turn, he’d pointed out his own scars, and told her not to let them bother her. _He also offered to teach me how to knock them down,_ she thought. After that, she’d decided she’d liked the new master-at-arms, and had kept Constantin from trying to drive him off, as he had so many tutors and teachers over the years. _Though I doubt Kurt would have been driven off in any case._

“You’re saying that mark is common among your people? And a sign of something?” Kurt asked.

“It is a marking of your bond with the earth,” said Siora. “A sign that you have undergone the bonding ritual, though any parent who has undergone the rite would pass it to their child. Your mother did not have such a mark?”

“No. Until I saw you, I had never seen anyone who shared this marking…nor anyone who looked so much like me.”

“I did tell you the natives would seem strangely familiar,” said Vasco. “I might have told you that the marking on your face is much more common here.”

“My uncle’s physician told me that it was unique,” said de Sardet.

“It must have been your father who was bonded, then,” said Siora. “But it is very strange to me that your people would not tell you this. Our bond is very important; it is what connects us to the land, and makes Tir Fradi our home.”

De Sardet could not stop staring at Siora’s birthmark; it was on the opposite side of her face, but was otherwise identical to her own, both in placement and color. “I never knew anyone else born with this marking in the Congregation. Until now, I did not know that there was anyone else in the world with it.”

“You said your father died before you were born. It must have been him who bonded,” said Siora. “My father bonded after I was born, so Eseld and I did not inherit the mark of the bond from him; I only received it once I had my own ceremony. I trained for many years to become _on ol menawi_ and _doneigad_ – a healer, who is linked by their bond to the earth,” she explained. “It is strange to me that the bond is so rare among your people, and that you would not know of it. Are your healers not bonded?”

“No,” de Sardet said. “At least, I don’t think they are.”

Siora shook her head, looking bewildered. “Your people are very strange.”

De Sardet was still looking at Siora with bewildered feelings of her own. _Constantin is right. She looks more like my cousin than he does._ “I am sure that I will think the same of yours, once I have had a chance to learn more. I hope that we can come to understand each other better…and that we can avert this war that looms between your people and the Bridge Alliance.”

“I hope so as well, _on ol menawi_.”


	37. A Gift

They made all the arrangements as quickly as possible: the governor’s palace had an abundance of supply wagons and pack animals, and it was easy to retrieve one. Kurt was surprised to discover that the pack animals of choice on the island were _andrig_ , not oxen or horses. “Native to the island. Docile as oxen, and stronger,” the head of the stables told him. “Horses are harder to come by, and we usually reserve them for carriages in the cities. On the roads, they’re spooked too easily by too much of the native wildlife.”

“What does it eat?”

“Whatever it can forage. You won’t have to worry about feed on the road; it doesn’t need to eat as often as an ox, either. They’re hardy animals, and easy enough to manage.” The man had given him some advice, and let him take a wagon back to the legate’s house, where there was a smaller stable around back.

Vasco was already packed; he had dropped a small canvas bag at the foot of the stairs. Kurt looked at it approvingly. “You travel light.”

“It isn’t as if I have much to take.” There was a tinge of resentment in Vasco’s voice that made Kurt wonder if the sailor was still struggling with the revelations they’d found in his personal file.

“Neither do I.”

Vasco raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’d think so.” But there was an amused look on the sailor’s face that made Kurt ask, “What do you know that I don’t?”

“I saw one of the manservants answering the door as I came in. Said it was from Georges the tailor in the Copper District, delivery for your room.”

“That can’t be right. Are you sure he said my room?”

“There are only the three of us. Or were, until today,” Vasco pointed out. “And it was quite a sizable trunk.”

Kurt was baffled. “I have no idea. Must be some mistake. I’ll look into it when I go up. Might be meant for the barracks – a shipment for the palace guard, maybe? I’ll probably end up having to haul it over to Manfred. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, getting everything ready before we go,” he groused. “Speaking of those arrangements, I don’t think we need to take four tents for sleeping. If you’ve no objections to sharing a tent—”

“Before I made captain, I was used to sharing a deck with two dozen other sailors,” Vasco answered. “I’m sure you’re used to barracks life.”

Kurt had actually had his own room for the last fifteen years; as master-at-arms, he’d lived at the Prince’s Palace in Serene, and his rank had actually merited a private room. It had been small, scarcely more than a bunk, a trunk, a chamber pot, and a washbasin, but even that had seemed an impossible luxury when he’d arrived in Serene at the age of nineteen. Before that, he’d never had a room to himself, and sharing a tent with a single sailor didn’t seem half so bad. “I am at that,” he told Vasco.

“Do you think de Sardet will share her tent with our new companion?”

“I don’t think she’d object, but I might,” said Kurt.

“Why? I can’t imagine it being scandalous, even by a noble’s standards. They’ve just met.”

Kurt stared at the sailor, then realized what he meant and barked out a laugh. “Green Blood isn’t the sort to bed a stranger, and her tastes don’t run to women in any case. I was thinking of her safety. We’ve just met this twig, and while she seems honest enough, her people are at war with the Bridge, while we’re allied with them. Green Blood can defend herself, but she’s too trusting; I’m sure she’d share a tent with our new friend, and never think that she might wake to find a knife at her throat.”

“She’s come as an emissary,” Vasco protested. “From what I know of them, the natives honor their word.”

“I don’t know them,” said Kurt. “Not yet. Trust has to be earned.”

“Well, de Sardet’s already given her quarters upstairs. Her room is next to yours,” said Vasco. He grinned. “You should have seen that butler when he saw Siora. When he took this job, I don’t think he thought he’d be serving Nauts, Coin Guard, and now a native.”

“Green Blood should remind him that she’s a native princess,” said Kurt. “Royalty, of a sort.”

“I don’t think the natives do things the same way as on the continent.”

“That goes without saying.” Kurt paused. “Where is the pretty flower?”

“She went with de Sardet to see the native merchant,” said Vasco. “I think she said something about wanting to see the man’s supply of potions, or perhaps his ingredients.” When Kurt frowned with concern, he said, “It’s broad daylight, and I think that pretty flower has thorns enough to defend them both, if need be.”

“Green Blood can defend herself,” Kurt agreed. “And the streets seem safe enough in daylight. Still, I’d be happier if she’d keep a guard at her side.”

“You can’t be with her every hour of the day,” Vasco said. “That’s why you trained her, isn’t it? You couldn’t have been with her every moment in Serene.”

“I nearly was.” Kurt sighed. “But you’re right. I’ve too much to do, and not enough time to spend it hanging behind her, not if we’re to depart tomorrow.” He headed up the stairs. “I’d best see what this shipment’s about. If I have to haul some crate of goods over to Manfred—”

“Why not order that butler to do it? I know de Sardet’s given him orders to obey us the way we would her,” said Vasco; again, he grinned. “Apparently, she got wind of his attitude toward those who were not quite as noble as she is, and had no patience for it.”

“It seems to me that you might mention your own title,” Kurt said. “Tell him he’s serving a noble scion of House d’Arcy, and see how quickly he jumps to your orders. Have you learned anything more?”

“I’ve had naught but time,” Vasco replied. “I’m hoping that when we return, I might enlist de Sardet’s help. Do you think she’d come with me to visit the former governor?”

“She’ll do anything you ask. Green Blood’s always eager to help, and she still seems to think she needs to make amends for offending you.”

To his credit, Vasco looked chagrined. “It isn’t her, I’ve told her as much.”

“You’d be more convincing if you didn’t look at her as if it was her fault you weren’t raised a noble. She got that file for you; I’d think you could forgive her.”

“I have. And don’t think I don’t know what I owe you. If you hadn’t ordered Lieutenant Dieter to let us slip those sleeping potions into the wine—”

“It was nothing. Green Blood could have talked him into it.”

“I doubt it. The only language that man understood was orders. Thank you, Kurt.”

“Any time, sailor.” Kurt grinned back. “If you hadn’t helped me get that cargo aboard the _Sea Horse_ and out of the port warehouses, I might not have been able to help. Torsten might’ve demoted me back to lieutenant.”

“Have you found out what your commander wanted with smuggled weapons?”

Kurt’s smile faded. “No, but I will. I’ve written an old friend, and hope to have a reply by the time we’re back. What we found with those silver coins and that Egon has me worried, but if there’s corruption in the Guard, I’ll root it out.”

“I’m sure you will.” Vasco inclined his head. “I’m down to the port to tell the admiral I’ll be off.” He sighed. “If we’re headed inland, it may be some time before I see the sea again. I’d like to at least see my ship before the _Sea Horse_ leaves harbor.”

He went out the door, and Kurt went up the stairs and into his room. Just as the sailor had said, there was a brand-new trunk next to his old battered one. Opening it, he saw only shining white linen.

_A mistake,_ he thought at first. _Someone must have brought one of Green Blood’s trunks to my room. Or Constantin’s, for that matter._ But as he lifted the linen off the top, he saw that the first garment atop the pile was a shirt far larger than Constantin would ever have worn. _Plainer, too. Constantin would have to have his frippery._ Constantin generally preferred flourishes like lace cuffs or fancy embroidery around the collar, and had his undershirts made from silk as often as linen.

Brow furrowing, he went to the next garment in the pile, and saw it was an identical shirt. _There are enough of them here that I could wear a clean one every day of the week._ Beneath them were a man’s undergarments of the same fine linen, softer than anything he’d ever worn, but again looking as if they’d be far too large for Constantin, and a dozen pairs of socks, made of sturdier material, mostly cotton, although he noticed a few woolen pairs as well. His suspicions roused, he unbuckled his doublet, then pulled off the undershirt beneath, the same patched one Constantin had mocked as a rag all those months ago. Carefully, he tried on the new shirt.

It fit perfectly. _Damned comfortable, too._ The cloth was soft but sturdy; he didn’t think he’d have to worry about it tearing, the way some of the Coin Guard-provided garments were prone to do. _It’s good quality. Fit for a prince of the Congregation, not one of their bodyguards._ Picking up another of the shirts, he examined the stitches; the workmanship was impeccable. _Well, at least she didn’t do it herself._ Alexandra de Sardet might have been a noblewoman, with all the accomplishments that a fine lady ought to possess, but embroidery and sewing had always been an area where she had failed to excel. He eyed the undergarments, and felt very glad that he knew the workmanship wasn’t her own. _Georges the tailor, they said, in the Copper District. Well, old Georges is better at stitching than Green Blood will ever be. He’s better than I am, and I’ve been mending my own garments for as long as I can remember._

 _It’ll be hard enough to thank her for this as it is,_ he thought as he tried them on; again, the fit was perfect, the material finer than any he’d ever had _. I don’t know how I’d look her in the eye if I thought she’d made all these…though, come to think of it, I don’t know when she would have had the time._ Between getting Commander Torsten’s crates marked and smuggled out of the Nauts’ warehouses, obtaining a patent for a native merchant, discovering that corrupt members of the Coin Guard were extorting local merchants, helping Vasco take his file from the harbor master’s office, and introducing himself to the palace guard, the weeks since they’d landed had been excessively busy, even without the more ordinary day-to-day matters to occupy his attention. _Reviewing duty rosters, drilling the palace guards to make sure they know what they’re doing, keeping up with my own practice: the sailor’s right. I can’t follow Green Blood all the time, and I’ve barely seen Constantin._

He laced his breeches and pulled his doublet back on, then replaced the threadbare garments in his travel bag with a few of the new items. He folded the older garments, setting them aside; he couldn’t see wearing them again, but it was hard for him to throw out anything that wasn’t entirely worn to rags. _I could always give them back to the stores at the barracks._ The Coin Guard wasted nothing, and some recruit might appreciate an extra shirt, well-worn and patched as it was.

Once he’d finished his own packing, he went downstairs. He passed Siora on the stairs; she was holding the key to her room in her hand, looking confused.

“Your room is there, pretty flower,” he told her, helping her fit the key to the lock.

“It is so large. This is just for me?” she asked as Kurt ushered her inside.

“All of it,” he said. _Definitely not a princess of the sort you’d find on the continent._ “If you want, you can have a servant draw you up a hot bath. They’ll bring the water right to you; there’s a tub in there.” He gestured to the tile-lined room that adjoined the bedroom. “There’s soap and a towel in there, too. Probably the best luxury in the house.”

“What is this?” Siora was staring at the bed.

“What, you don’t sleep on beds here?”

“We have sleeping mats.” Siora sat on the mattress, and her eyes widened comically as she sank into the bed. “It’s so soft!”

“It’s a feather mattress. If it’s too soft, sleep on the floor; you can put some blankets down. I’d suggest putting more blankets down over time so you get used to how soft it is, but since you’ll only be here a night, it won’t make much difference.” At seeing her questioning gaze, he explained, “I wasn’t used to having a mattress at all when I first started service in the Congregation. I’d spent a lot of time fighting in the field, and we slept on the ground more often than not. Had to work my way up to a feather bed – though it’s nice once you get used to it. Doesn’t get ticks or mildew, doesn’t poke you the way straw does.”

“Thank you,” Siora said, and Kurt headed downstairs.

He found de Sardet in her study, bent over some parchment: writing a report of some sort or a letter home, he wasn’t sure. When he cleared his throat, she looked up. “Green Blood,” he said, feeling awkward; part of him wondered if he should have said anything at all. _Maybe it would have been better if I had never brought it up_. But he couldn’t imagine accepting the gift without thanking her. 

“Kurt. What is it?” She seemed hesitant as well.

“I found the trunk you left,” he began.

“Did everything fit?”

“Perfectly. I’ve no idea how, but—”

“I had one of the servants go through your things,” she admitted. “Marie took one of each for the clothing, and measured some of the others, to make sure everything was accurate. I took them to a tailor in the city, a man in the Copper District who does good work.” De Sardet gave him a relieved smile. “I’m so glad it fits! If anything had needed alterations, Georges said to bring it back to him, but he reassured me everything would work out.”

“But the expense—”

“I had it charged to the palace accounts. I told Constantin I needed some fabric for new clothing, and he told me to buy whatever I needed.” A small smile played on her lips. “I did not say who the clothing was for.”

“I can’t take this,” he protested. “It’s too much.”

“It’s nothing, truly. My uncle will never notice the difference in the accounts. If he does, he’ll assume it was for Constantin. He’s always getting a new doublet or a new suit of clothing. The expense of some linen is nothing compared to gold brocade.”

“If it’s that you’re ashamed of me looking so ragged, I could have bought something for myself—”

“It isn’t that. I am ashamed – because of my own thoughtlessness and stupidity. I never thought to ask if there was anything you needed,” she said. “I never thought of how often Constantin and I received new clothing, and of how little the Coin Guard must have given you. I should have done this years ago.”

“I don’t want to be a beggar,” he protested.

“You aren’t,” she said. “It’s a gift. Think of it as an apology for Constantin’s rudeness back in Serene, if you must, but please don’t refuse.” She smiled. “I hardly know what I would do with a dozen shirts that size, let alone the rest of it.”

“You could always give them to Constantin,” Kurt suggested. “You still owe him a birthday gift, do you not?”

“I’ve already arranged a gift with the wine-seller,” she said. “A bottle of the finest vintage he has, imported from the continent. A red from Theleme.”

“Those priests do know their wine,” Kurt agreed.

“Please,” she said. “It’s nothing I wouldn’t do for anyone. In fact, if Captain Vasco wishes, I’d arrange for him to have some new things as well.”

“You’ll hurt his pride,” he said. _Though I’d pay to see the sailor’s face if he opened a trunk to find you’d bought him new underwear._ He didn’t think he could say it to de Sardet’s face without turning red – after all, he was scarcely comfortable with the idea that she’d done it for him, and that was with knowing her as well as he did – but the thought made him smile. _She’s done it because she has a good heart. She probably thought of the shirts and then decided to replace everything._ Vasco didn’t know her well enough to know that, and he had to wonder what the sailor would have made of it. _He might wonder if she wants to see him in it…or if Constantin said something about how shabby he looked._

“If I can find new boots, perhaps, or a new pair of gloves…you do not think those would go amiss, do you? I know he has been unhappy about his reassignment, and now that he’s discovered that he was once from Serene…”

“You won’t make him feel better by showering him with gifts. He’s found out that he might have been a lord, and that’s a hard truth to swallow. Giving him fine shirts that are fit for a lord…I doubt he’ll be grateful. Instead, he’ll think that he might have had them all his life.”

“I wish there was something I could do,” she said. “Perhaps I might ask Lady de Morange what she knows of the d’Arcys. Discreetly, of course. I wish that I knew more of them.”

“I remember a d’Arcy boy at the court,” he said. “A boy about Constantin’s age, or perhaps a little older.”

“Bastien,” de Sardet said.

“You told the sailor you didn’t remember him well.”

De Sardet grimaced. “He was unkind. His father had maneuvered to get him into the group of children who my uncle tried to place around Constantin, for a time.” 

“I remember. It was back when your uncle brought a whole bunch of noble kids to court. He had them tutored alongside the pair of you. Made me teach them, too.” He vaguely remembered Bastien d’Arcy: a dark-haired boy with olive skin, close-set brown eyes, and a high forehead, who’d been prone to boasting about his skill with a rapier but who lacked the natural talent or the work ethic required to improve.

“He had hoped that Constantin would befriend them,” said de Sardet. “My uncle said that he hoped he would cultivate long-term allies that way. But you know Constantin was never one to do what his father said…and he knew that so many of those boys only wanted to be his friend because their families had told them to do so. He despised them all for it.”

“And he made that displeasure known, of course.” Instead of providing a group of close friends and lifelong allies, Constantin had made a number of enemies. _I do not recall that Sir Bastien was among them, but they were never close, and he withdrew from Court once old d’Orsay gave up on his experiment._

Another memory stirred. “Bastien was rather like Constantin, was he not? Enthusiastic, loud, with a tendency to empty boasting and a fondness for adventure.”

To his surprise, de Sardet frowned. “He was _not_ like Constantin,” she protested.

The way she said it brought Kurt up short. “Was he unkind to you, Green Blood?”

She lifted a hand to her face. “He made fun of my birthmark,” she said reluctantly. “He heard Lady Isabelle mocking me to her friends, and found it amusing. I tried not to mind, but I was glad when he was sent away.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I would have put a stop to it if I’d known. The same would have been true for de Courcillon.”

“If I had, it would only have made things worse. You know how cruel children can be, and no one likes a tattletale.” She sighed. “Instead, I confided in Constantin. I should not have done so. He tormented Bastien relentlessly – found all of his insecurities and his flaws, and mocked him to all the other boys. He told them that if they wanted to be his friend, they should shun Bastien, and the cruelty spread. I know that he left him in tears, and that he pleaded with his father to be allowed to return home, even before my uncle gave up on his scheme.”

“That does not seem to be too harsh a punishment,” Kurt said. _Words are hardly the worst punishment for a boy of that age._ He thought of Vasco, who’d been whipped by his captain at sixteen for a glib tongue, or of the night training that had nearly been his death at a younger age than that, for the crime of a single word. _I said no, and Hermann nearly had me killed for it._ “He’d mocked you, Green Blood; I can’t feel too much pity for him if others did the same to him.”

“I know, but…” De Sardet sighed, and Kurt looked at her warmly.

 _She has a gentle heart. She’s always been too kind to those who’d see her hurt._ “And you said nothing of this to the sailor.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Please, Kurt, don’t mention it. Bastien is his brother, and we were children. He may have changed. I would not sully Vasco’s opinion of him before they’ve had a chance to meet.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I hope he will have a happy reunion.” De Sardet paused. “Do you have any family? Were your parents in the Guard?”

“Yes, and to be truthful, I never knew them,” he answered. “I was entrusted to a wet-nurse, a prostitute who followed the troops. I remember her. She was sweet, a good person, and she may be the only one who showed me any kind of affection…but that didn’t last. As soon as I could hold a wooden sword, I was given a real one, and sent to training.” He thought of her. _Clara._ His memories were all blurry: he remembered warm soft arms, the smell of crushed herbs, a gentle voice, an honest face with warm brown eyes and freckles. “I tried to find her, once I got old enough, but I learned she’d died of the malichor not long after she gave me up. I wonder if that’s why I was sent to training so young. As for my parents, they died in battle; I never laid eyes on either of them.”

“I’m sorry,” de Sardet said.

“It’s not your fault, Green Blood. I would have liked to have a childhood, but at least my parents made some allowance for me. There were always half-starved kids following the army, doing odd jobs for soldiers, the castoff children of the camp followers. I’m lucky I wasn’t one of them. The Coin Guard has been the only family I’ve ever known.”

But he could see she was upset by the thought. “You have had no one, and Vasco…”

“It’s the truth of life for many,” he said. “At least the sailor may find his brother.”

De Sardet bit her lip. “I hope that he will. I hope Bastien will prove to be everything he desires. Perhaps when we return to New Serene, he’ll have found more information. I know he has been looking into things in his spare time.” She set down her quill. “For now, attempting to avert this battle must take precedence. I’m sending word to Constantin; as much as I would like to join him for supper tonight, I have too much to do. I cannot afford to spend four hours at a dinner party; I have to finish my own packing, visit Lady de Morange to ask her about what she knows regarding the Bridge Alliance’s recent actions on the island, particularly with regards to Siora’s tribe, and speak with Siora about her people.”

“It’s nearly dark. If you’re going to see Lady de Morange, I’ll go with you.” Anticipating her objections, he said, “I’m done with my own packing, and I’ve found a wagon to transport our supplies. We can talk about things as we walk.”

De Sardet nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small homage to missjlh, and to the discussion about how in every Greedfall universe, there are a few constants, including a kind-hearted de Sardet helping with Kurt's laundry situation.


	38. Did e Kiden Nadageis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows the aftermath of the battle between Siora's people and the Bridge, so expect depictions of that aftermath.

They left at dawn, and yet arrived in Vedrhais only to discover they were too late: Bladnid had set off with her warriors, intent on fighting.

Siora was distraught; de Sardet could see her worry, and understood it completely. _If my mother was in danger, and I thought that I could have prevented it…and her sister has gone to war as well._ They took the shortest route possible, even though it meant fighting off several packs of wild animals, and each time they finished, Siora began to race ahead before Kurt called her back.

“You can’t get too far ahead, pretty flower,” he told her. “You’re the only one who knows where we’re going. And we’ll do better to stay near each other.”

Soon enough, he knew they were drawing near the battlefield: the sound was unmistakable, and brought back memories he would rather have forgotten. _The sound of men screaming, fighting, dying…the clash of steel…the smell of blood and death._ Even as he thought it, a breeze caught his nostrils, and he knew that they were downwind of the battlefield.

Siora paled. “ _Matir_ …Eseld…” She took off running.

“Keep her from getting too far,” Kurt told Vasco. “Tell her to wait for the rest of us.”

As Vasco nodded and chased after her, Kurt turned to de Sardet. “You’ve never seen war, Green Blood,” he said. “It isn’t pretty. This battle won’t be as large as some of the ones I’ve seen on the continent, but it’ll be more than some little skirmish.”

“We aren’t participating, Kurt,” said de Sardet. “We can’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. The things you’ll see—” He broke off as memories surfaced. “You’ll see men so badly injured they don’t look like men. Or men who are dying who you can’t hope to help, crying for their mothers, for a lover, for a friend. There are things that don’t leave you.”

“You have a gentle heart, Green Blood. You don’t like to see people suffer, but on a battlefield, that’s all there is, death and suffering. I wish I could keep you from having to see it. I wish we’d come sooner.” He looked up ahead, where Vasco had caught Siora by the arm and was talking to her, gesturing animatedly to where Kurt and de Sardet stood. “I know you’ll insist on going, though I don’t know what we can do. But stay near me. Most everyone freezes their first time on a battlefield, and I don’t want some Bridger taking your head off.” When they’d learned that Bladnid had set out for the battlefield, Kurt had insisted she exchange her doublet for armor, but he wished she had a helm instead of her feathered hat. _We should all have helmets, and none of us do._

“Stay close to me, and try not to look. And if you want to talk, after…I’ll be here,” he said haltingly. _I’ve never been good with words, but I can listen._ Kurt only hoped she wouldn’t be plagued with the same nightmares that had haunted him after his first battle. _I thought the ghost camp had prepared me, but that was a different hell entirely._

De Sardet saw his sincerity. “Thank you, Kurt. I…I hope that it is not as terrible as you say, but…” The echo of more screaming, carried on the wind, made her voice die away, and she looked in that direction with both fear and foreboding.

“Stay near me,” he said again, then picked up his pace, moving back toward Siora and Vasco.

The fighting was nearly done, and from the bodies on the ground, the natives had clearly lost the day. _They took a fair number of the Bridgers with them, but it wasn’t close._ There were still a few natives fighting on the field, trying to organize a retreat, but they were also outnumbered.

A few Bridge Alliance soldiers saw them, and seeing them with Siora was apparently enough to make them decide they were the enemy: they charged, but Vasco took one out with his pistol, and de Sardet handled another with her magic. Kurt unsheathed his _zweihander_ , but none of the soldiers got near enough to feel his blade go through them.

By that time, they were near enough to see the faces of the fighters, and Kurt heard Siora scream a name: “Eseld!”

De Sardet started forward, but Kurt threw an arm out in front of her to stop her; the woman looked almost precisely like Siora, though her face was covered in the natives’ paint, and she was taking on several members of the Bridge Alliance.

Kurt watched as the sisters handled the remaining soldiers readily: Eseld wrested a man’s gun from him, shot one man and hit another in the face with the butt of the rifle, then struck a third before pitching it aside, ducking an axe-wielding soldier to charge at another. When it seemed as if she might herself be struck in the back by the axe-wielding man she’d dodged, Siora planted both hands on the ground, and vines rose to tangle the man who’d nearly killed her sister; while he dangled helpless, Eseld hurled a dagger through his eye.

_That’s some impressive magic,_ Kurt thought, eyeing the vines. _I’ve never seen anything like it._ The priests of Theleme dealt in light and shadow, not vines and nature.

Eseld approached, angry. “You are too late, Siora! _Matir_ has fallen and we are defeated!”

Siora’s face crumpled. “No! No! No! This is not fair!” She put a hand to her head, turning away as tears began to well in her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” de Sardet said.

“Who is this woman? She resembles one of us but is dressed like a _renaigse_.” Eseld elbowed her sister aside as she approached de Sardet. Kurt, concerned for de Sardet’s safety, went to stand at her side, and was pleased to see Vasco doing the same.

“I am the ambassador of the Congregation of Merchants. I’m sorry for your loss…”

Eseld was furious. “The Congregation? And what side are you on in this war? Those that massacre our people?”

“Eseld, calm down! You know that our mother sent me to seek out allies.”

Eseld turned her fury on her sister. “You show up when the fight is nearly over! Was this part of your plan? You know that these monsters are taking our own. They must make honorable amends.”

De Sardet intervened. “We got here as fast as we could, I assure you, and we have fought by your side. Please, please take the time to at least hear me out. There has already been enough death, and you are wounded. This is not the time for vengeance! Listen…” Kurt could see her thinking quickly. “After a battle, lost or won, the elders say we must return the dead to the earth.”

Siora nodded. “And tend to the wounded. This is right, Eseld. This is no time to continue the fight.”

“Truly spoken,” Eseld conceded. “You are right, and you know our traditions.” She sighed. “Waiting for my vengeance will make it taste all the sweeter.” She clutched at her side, and Kurt could see the blood staining her leathers. “I feel weak,” she admitted. “Might I ask you to watch over our own, Siora? I must return to the village.”

“Go on ahead,” Siora said. “We will tend to the wounded. She looked to de Sardet. “Won’t we, now?”

De Sardet was already reaching for one of the vials of healing potion she carried with her. “Yes. We will do everything we can,” she promised.

“And find my mother,” Siora said, her voice choked. “Or her body, if…if she is indeed dead.” Surrounded by the smoldering fires of battle, piles of dead bodies, and the stench of blood, powder, and death, Kurt knew the grim likelihood.

Now that the immediate rush of battle and the confrontation with Eseld had passed, de Sardet seemed to finally take in the sight of the field around her. “Look at this massacre,” she said, her voice small; she had been at her most commanding when she had persuaded Eseld to back down, but now she seemed to retreat into herself, overwhelmed by so much death. “How…”

Siora’s jaw set in determination. “Find her banner. It bears the symbol of our clan.”

“We should help the wounded first,” Kurt said. “If you wait too long, there won’t be many left to help.” He could hear weak cries and pleas coming from multiple places, and it brought back memories of the battlefields he’d seen on the continent. _They’re all the same. After a battle, all that’s left is the dead and the dying…at least, before night falls and the scavengers come._ Some of those scavengers were animals, but others would be human: Kurt still remembered the men who crept out onto the field to rob the dead. _Some were even soldiers from our regiment._ The allure of a new pair of boots or a few extra coins was too much for some men to resist. _I wonder if it’s the same here, or if the natives have more honor._

He shook off the thought as they got to work. “There’s one here, Green Blood,” he called out, finding a native clutching at his side and moaning. He knew the look of a man who might be saved compared to those who were beyond help; he saw more than a few of those, too, and did his best to keep de Sardet from seeing them.

“I’ve found one! Over here!” Vasco called out, and de Sardet started toward them. Kurt went to follow, but heard cries coming from the opposite direction.

“ _Matir_. _Matir_ ,” the voice cried out.

 _Young. Too young,_ he thought. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that de Sardet was already out of earshot, rushing to where Vasco was helping a wounded native sit up. Siora was headed toward them as well, presumably to translate; Vasco had more Yecht Fradi than either Kurt or de Sardet, but not much. 

Turning away from his companions, he found a native boy who looked just old enough to fight, leaning against the ruins of an old stone wall. _How old can he be? Fourteen, fifteen?_ The face paint made it difficult to be certain, as did the blood trickling from his mouth that had smeared the paint. _That’s never a good sign._

A glance at the boy confirmed it: his midsection was a reddened mess, his guts held in by the remains of his leather armor and his own two hands. “ _Matir_ ,” he cried again, then fell silent as he looked at Kurt. One eye was swollen shut, but the other widened with fear as he saw him.

“ _Renaigse_ ,” he gasped, and Kurt held up both hands, showing he held no weapon. He choked out a long string of words that Kurt couldn’t hope to translate.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I’m with Siora. From your village. Vedrhais.” He remembered one of the few words Siora had taught them. " _Carants_." _Friend._ That seemed to calm him a little, and Kurt crouched at his side, but as he looked at the boy’s midsection, he could see he was beyond saving. _Gut wound. A slow, nasty death._ He knew his bowels were punctured from the smell. _There’s no healing potion strong enough to save him._

The boy said a few more words Kurt didn’t recognize, ending in a plea. “ _Wensha_ ,” he said, his eyes going to the canteen at Kurt’s belt. “ _Wensha_.”

Kurt hadn’t known the natives’ word for water, but he’d been around too many wounded. _Dying men cry for water, for mercy, and for their mother…even if that mother is dead, or far away, or one they’ve never known._ He wondered if this boy’s mother was still alive, and if she would weep when they brought her news of her son. He took the canteen from his belt and unscrewed the cap, lifting it to the boy’s lips, helping him drink. The boy managed a few words of gratitude, and Kurt looked away. “Don’t thank me,” he said, knowing the boy couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.” He held up the canteen. “More?”

The boy reached, but not for the canteen; one of his hands went for Kurt’s left hand, the one that was empty. He said something else, and although Kurt didn’t know the language, he knew the meaning behind the words. _Don’t go._

 _No one wants to die alone._ He knew that from experience, too. _I’ve had too many friends die, and too many comrades._ He took the boy’s hand, holding it tightly, and asked, “What’s your name, lad?” He tapped his chest with the hand holding the canteen. “Kurt.” Then he tapped the boy’s chest, as gently as he could, above the bloody ruin beneath. _Someone should tell your family what happened to you. Even if I can’t, Siora can bring them the news, or Eseld._

“Cael.” His voice was weak and fading, and he gripped Kurt’s hand more tightly, writhing with pain.

“Cael,” Kurt repeated. “From Vedrhais?”

Cael nodded. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips shut; dark blood continued to trickle from the side of his mouth.

“I wish I had something for the pain.” He didn’t even have a flask of wine on him; their spirits were all in the wagon, which they’d left on the outskirts of Vedrhais. “I’ll tell your family. Or Siora will.” Cael’s eyes fluttered open, and he said something more in his own tongue. “I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I wish I understood. I wish I could do more.” He held up the canteen again, intending to offer another drink, but Cael turned his head away. As he did, Kurt heard the jagged breathing that came just before the end.

He didn’t leave. A moment later, he heard the death rattle, and the boy’s grip relaxed as the light left his eyes. “Damn it,” Kurt swore. “A damn waste, all of this.” He leaned over and closed the boy’s eyes.

Only then did he hear the sound of someone standing behind him. “Siora,” he said, surprised but also relieved. _I’d hate for Green Blood to have seen this. She’d be upset…well, more than she is already._ He knew the sight of the battlefield would affect her; she’d never been on one before. _I wouldn’t have had her first experience with battle being witness to a massacre._

“ _Cengots_ ,” she said, then seemed to reconsider. “Kurt. You did not call out.”

“He was beyond saving,” Kurt said, nodding to the boy’s wound. "No potion or magic could have healed that." 

"It could not," she agreed. "You saw that, but you did not leave. You stayed with him. You gave him water.”

“No one should have to die alone.” 

Siora crouched down next to the boy’s corpse. “Cael,” she said. “He had seen fifteen cycles. He should not have been here, but he has long wanted to fight. His father died fighting the lions, and his sister was in training to become a _doneigad_ when they took her. I do not know if he snuck away with the warriors or if _Matir_ decided he was ready, but…” She choked back a sob. “He should not have been here. He should not have died. If we had come sooner…”

“Don’t blame yourself, pretty flower,” Kurt told her. “This wasn’t your doing.”

“No. It was theirs.” Siora looked down, and Kurt saw the body of a Coin Guard, a man in a doublet very much like his, but green and azure rather than blue and silver, and a beret of the sort favored by members of the Green-Azure Regiment.

 _He’s scarcely older than that native boy. A fresh recruit. Boys killing boys, and for what?_

His compassion must have showed in his eyes, because Siora frowned. “I do not understand you. You comfort a dying boy, give him water from your own drinking skin, learn his name so that you can tell his family…but the _bod airni_ are your people too. If your _mal_ ordered, could he make you serve the lions? Would you take up arms against my people?” 

“I am a member of the Coin Guard. I go where I am ordered, and do what I am told. But I would not be happy about it,” Kurt admitted. “I’m not fond of the Bridgers, any more than I am of the priests. Looking after Green Blood and Constantin, serving the Congregation…it’s where I belong.”

“What if your _mal_ commanded you to take up arms against them? What if he told you they were your enemy?”

“The Guard wouldn’t expect that of me,” Kurt said. “The Coin Guard rarely transfers men between regiments because they do not want our loyalties strained; it’s also why they rarely assign a man born in Theleme to serve in the Green-Azure, or one born in the Bridge to serve in the Red Sun.”

“But if they commanded it…”

“I go where I’m ordered and do as I’m told,” said Kurt, “but there are some orders a man can’t obey, not if he wants to be able to live with himself after.”

“You are a good man, _cengots_ ,” said Siora. She let out a long breath. “I am sorry. You have fought at my side and helped my people, and this…this is a kindness I would not have expected from you.”

“He’s just a kid,” said Kurt. “I was about his age when I first went into battle.” He looked back at the body. “Did he have a family? He wanted his mother.”

Siora nodded slowly. “Tosia. He was her last living family…well, if Sorcha is dead, but she must be. We do not know why the lions take our people or what they do with them, but it has been nearly three years since they took her.” She let out a long sigh. “He will be taken back to Vedrhais and returned to the earth with the rest of our fallen.”

“Have you found your mother’s banner?”

“Not yet, but I have not truly looked.”

“I don’t think we’ll find many more on this field who are still among the living,” said Kurt. “We’ll get Green Blood and start looking.”

Siora nodded, then hesitated. “Kurt?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Why did you not call out?”

“The boy was beyond saving,” he said. “I wouldn’t leave him to die alone, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do for him.” He paused, looking across the battlefield to where de Sardet and Vasco were helping another man to his feet. “I wanted to let Green Blood help those she could, instead of focusing on one she can’t.”

“I know her. She’ll blame herself for not having been able to prevent this, the same way you are. I don’t want her seeing his face when she closes her eyes at night; I don’t want her to think he’s another life on her conscience.” Kurt looked around at field, the heaps of corpses. _Damned Bridgers won the day and left their own dead behind._ He recognized the cold practicality: they had done the same on the continent when they’d won battles in enemy territory, knowing that the enemy would have to stop to take time to bury the dead, and that if they didn’t, the decaying bodies in the open would bring down disease upon the living.

 _It didn’t matter to them that it meant leaving good men in unmarked graves, or that their enemies didn’t always treat the bodies they left behind with any sort of decency._ Among the Coin Guard, there was an understanding that they treated the enemy fallen with the same respect they would have wanted in their place, but their commanders and the regiments of non-Guard soldiers didn’t always see things the same way. _How many guards have died for countries that don’t give them the proper respect? To the nobles who send them out to die, they’re nameless, faceless cannon fodder. Burhan doesn’t care whether or not the Coin Guards he sends to their deaths get a proper burial, or even if anyone reports their deaths to the families they left behind. Do any of the governors here? Do any of the rulers on the continent?_

Resentment swelled in his chest, and he pushed it back down, knowing that neither Siora nor any of his companions would have compassion toward the men who’d fought for the Bridge Alliance. “Don’t tell her,” he told Siora. “About the boy. It’ll only cause her pain, and for no reason. It wasn’t her fault, what happened here today, and it wasn’t yours.”

De Sardet came rushing up to them. “Where were you?”

“Tending to one of the injured,” said Siora.

“He didn’t make it,” said Kurt. “I don’t think we’ll find many more.”

“Neither do I,” de Sardet admitted. “It’s been some time since I heard anyone call out.” She looked around the field once more, and Kurt could see the sheer scale of the battle overwhelming her. “So many have died…”

“It’s war, Green Blood,” he said. “I told you it would be bad.”

“I’ll admit, I heard you describe what we might see, but I couldn’t have imagined this,” said Vasco. “Fighting cutpurses in an alley or even beasts on the roads is a far cry from this.”

“Eseld will be organizing those in our village to return the dead to the earth, and Arwant will tend those we sent back to Vedrhais,” said Siora. “Thanks to you, we healed them all. May the grass be ever soft beneath your feet!”

Kurt nodded gratefully to Siora as de Sardet managed the smallest hint of a smile; he knew she’d said it to lift her spirits.

With that, the focus of their search shifted. Siora described the queen’s banner to them as best she could, as well as the men and women who had formed her innermost guard. “They will have fine armor of red leather and fur, like Eseld’s, and their faces will be painted as Eseld’s was.”

“You should try to prepare yourself for the worst,” Vasco told Siora. “That last man we found said that he saw the queen’s banner fall.” 

“Until we find her body, I will not believe that _Matir_ is dead,” Siora said stubbornly.

“Look around you,” said Vasco. “Do you think there’s anyone left alive here?” There was an edge to his voice, and Kurt could tell that the sight of the battlefield was affecting him: like de Sardet, Vasco had never before seen a battle or its aftermath. 

“Hold up, sailor. You can’t tell her to give up hope,” said Kurt.

“It’s the truth,” Vasco protested. “You said it yourself: you don’t think we’ll find many more alive here. I hope we find the queen alive and well, but don’t you think it’s better to try to prepare for the worst?”

“You do not understand. You do not have a family,” Siora flung back at him, and Vasco’s head rocked back as if she’d backhanded him. “She is my mother. I cannot give up hope.”

Ever the peacemaker, de Sardet intervened. “Please, stop arguing.” She looked to Siora. “I understand. I would not ask you to give up hope. We will stay here until we find your mother’s banner…and, I hope, your mother.”

“Vasco, I know how hard it is to be on this field. To see all these bodies…I understand why you think it an impossible task. But I know how Siora feels; you can know something is unlikely, even impossible, here,” she said, tapping her temple, “and yet not be able to give up here.” Her hand clenched into a fist as she pressed it against her heart, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her mother.

 _Until she gets word from Serene, she won’t believe her mother is dead._ He doubted Jeanne de Sardet was still alive, but he would never have taken that hope from her. _Just as she won’t take Siora’s from her._

“Arguing will not change how she feels,” de Sardet told Vasco. “You must understand that.”

“It’s like when a ship is lost at sea,” Vasco said, nodding. “You may know they’re gone, but there’s some part of you that still hopes that their ship will come into port someday. But—”

“We’re wasting time,” Kurt broke in. “Those scavengers we fought off were only the first. As night falls, more will come.”

“He is right,” said Siora. “ _Ulg_ will come, and perhaps _vaileg_ , and _dosantats_ as well. They will want to feed from the bodies.”

“The fires might scare them off, for a time,” said Kurt. “But eventually they’ll come, and we’ll have to stop searching for the night. It’s a long walk back to Vedrhais, and we’re not equipped to camp here.”

“We could shelter in the ruins,” de Sardet pointed out, looking up at the remains of stone that loomed above.

“That’s something to consider – but only once we’re done searching,” said Kurt. “Come on.”


	39. The Queen's Banner

De Sardet spotted it first: the remnants of the banner, fluttering in the breeze. “Siora…” she began uncertainly, but Siora had already seen: she froze for half a heartbeat, then rushed forward, freezing again when she saw the tableau beneath the banner: bodies were piled around it, Coin Guard, Bridge soldiers, and natives alike, all dead.

Siora fell to her knees, pressing both hands against the earth as she wept. She rocked back, staring at the banner, sobbing all the while. None of the companions spoke. De Sardet’s heart went out to her; she didn’t see any body that resembled Siora’s description of her mother, but the tattered banner and mound of corpses spoke of a fierce fight, and one that could not have ended in the queen’s favor.

Siora continued to weep, tears streaming down her face as her cries echoed through the valley. She made a fist and pounded it against the earth, then rocked back on her heels before falling forward against the ground once more, pressing her hands on the earth as if she sought to draw strength from it. Her tears fell from her cheeks and dripped to the ground, and she did not try to wipe them away.

In the midst of her sorrow, a weak voice cut through the sound of her grief. “I beg of you…help me…”

De Sardet’s head snapped up, searching for the sound of that voice. She found it: a member of the Coin Guard clad in a green and azure doublet and maroon beret, leaning back against the tattered banner, a man of perhaps thirty with a dark beard and moustache.

Siora was still on her knees, hands pressed against the ground, but when she looked up, pure rage flashed in her eyes. “And still you dare to breathe!” She crawled forward, and as she did, vines began to snake up from the earth, coiling around the man’s legs and body. “How can you hope I am here to save you?”

De Sardet started forward, but Kurt placed a hand on her arm, concerned. “I can’t let her kill him,” she said. “She won’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Vasco asked, but Kurt let her go.

The wounded guard’s eyes were wide with panic. “No! I…” His words were abruptly cut off as Siora’s vines coiled around his throat.

“What have you done with my mother?” Siora pressed a hand against his chest, and one of the vines coiled its way toward his eye.

“Pity…I…beg…of…you…” The man’s voice shook with panic, and his eyes nearly crossed as he tried to stare at the vine that was pointed directly at them. “I…don’t…want to die…”

“Then answer!” Siora screamed. The only response was a choking sound as the man struggled for air, the vines pressing more tightly against his throat.

“Siora!” De Sardet called out; she was so far lost in her rage that de Sardet wondered if she would hear, but she did: Siora turned and looked up at her, and she saw the pain behind her fury, her face a rictus of hatred and grief. Siora said nothing, but de Sardet could see the rapid, shaky rise and fall of her chest, and knew she was struggling to hold in a sob. “Stop! Look at yourself! The battle is over. He has surrendered.”

“Your quarrel is not with this man. He fights because he is ordered to, because it is the only way for him to earn enough coin to eat.”

“Then he no better than a wild beast, who kills to feed.” Siora glowered at the man, whose face had begun to turn purple; the sound he made as he attempted to suck air in was horrible, and de Sardet began to fear that he would suffocate or die of a crushed windpipe before she could persuade her to stop. “Though a beast has far more majesty than these monsters who have traded their souls…”

“Beasts also kill to protect their territory…but you are not a wild animal, and neither is he. He is not a beast or a monster; he is a man, a living person like you or me.”

“He is a monster!” Siora insisted.

“Then do not stoop to his level. Do not become a monster yourself. Please,” de Sardet begged her. “We came to try to stop the killing. Please, Siora, I know how badly I have failed…I know what it is to lose a mother, and to know that you could not help her…”

De Sardet choked up, swallowing hard over the sudden lump in her throat, and that failure of words, rather than any of her speeches, was what finally got through to Siora; the vines quit tightening around the man’s throat, and she let out a soft sound that might have been a stifled cry of her own.

“If you want to be angry with anyone, it should be me. Don’t take it out on this man,” she managed. “He is a prisoner of war, and you told me yourself that you do not execute unarmed prisoners.” She had spent much of the journey to Vedrhais learning what she could of the natives’ customs from Siora, specifically their customs surrounding war, truces, and treaties. “If any of your own people have been taken captive, you may be able to barter his life for their return.”

Siora rocked back on her heels, and the vines receded. “You are right,” she conceded, and the man slumped to one side, massaging his throat as he took as deep a breath as he could, wheezing and coughing. “I am not a monster, and I will not let him make me into one. _Matir_ would not have killed this unarmed, pathetic _monisainaig_.”

As she wiped at her eyes, the man spoke, his voice rasping and feeble. “They have taken her,” he managed, still clutching at his throat. “The queen…they took her.”

“Then she must still be alive,” said de Sardet. “They would not have bothered to carry away a corpse.”

Siora got to her feet. “She would have chosen death before capture,” she insisted. “They must have wanted her alive. We must find her!”

“Where is your outpost?” de Sardet asked the man. “You must have one nearby. It is too long a march from Hikmet.”

The guard looked uneasy, and Vasco let out an exasperated sound. “Are you really going to resist? The legate could have stayed silent, you know.”

Kurt stepped forward. “Your name and rank, soldier.” The man eyed Kurt’s blue and silver doublet. “Prisoners of war owe that, at least. Name, rank, and assignment.”

“Lieutenant Goran of the Green-Azure Regiment, Sixteenth Company.”

“The Sixteenth is the Bridge Alliance’s equivalent of the Congregation’s Sixth Company, here on the island,” Kurt explained. “For exploration and duty in the wilderness…though the Bridge focuses more on fighting the natives than exploring, and has more companies dedicated to such.” He looked back to Goran. “Now, you’re a captive of the natives, but as you owe Legate de Sardet your life, I suggest you supply her with whatever information she requests. The Congregation and the Bridge Alliance are allies, after all.”

“But…” Goran’s eyes went from Kurt to de Sardet to Siora.

“The legate came to try to broker a cease-fire between the Bridge and this clan. We got here too late to stop the fighting, but we only fought to defend ourselves; we weren’t a part of this battle. I’m Captain Kurt of the Eighth Company, Blue-Silver Regiment, and while I’m not in your chain of command, I would suggest you listen to me. This clan just lost its queen…and its acting queen will be her daughter. Not this one, either, but one who’s going to be even more eager to take out her anger on a prisoner. If you don’t supply information on the queen’s whereabouts, the legate may not be able to talk her down.”

“I promise I will not share that information with Princess Eseld or the warriors of Vedrhais,” said de Sardet. “I do not seek to fuel further conflict, although I fear that it is likely inevitable…but I promise you, I seek only to find your outpost to negotiate for the return of the queen. The Congregation is officially allied with the Bridge Alliance, and neutral in this conflict.”

Goran eyed her birthmark doubtfully. “How can I trust you?”

“You have my word as an officer of the Coin Guard,” Kurt supplied. “I have served Legate de Sardet for nearly fifteen years. She is honorable; she will keep her word.”

“The officers I’ve served under…don’t tend to be very honorable,” Goran said, and coughed again.

“She did save your life,” Vasco pointed out.

“We can’t protect you if you don’t help us,” Kurt said. “If we go back to Vedrhais and tell Eseld that your information may lead to her getting her mother back, it’ll have a very different outcome than if we go there and tell her that you know precisely where the queen is but won’t tell us. You’ve seen what they can do.”

“Do you really want to find out all the places those vines can go?” Vasco interjected, folding his arms across his chest. “They won’t choke you when they know you have information they need.”

Siora glowered at the man, her eyes burning coals of barely-contained fury. “If this man will not tell us where _Matir_ is…”

The look in her eyes seemed to decide him. “I’ll tell you,” Goran said. “Though what my commander will do to me if he finds out…”

“We won’t tell him it was you,” de Sardet promised.

Goran related the information as best he could. “It’s to the northeast, uphill. If you give me a quill and parchment, I’ll draw you a map.”

“I have some in our wagon,” said de Sardet. “When we return to Vedrhais, I’ll have you create one.”

“Speaking of which, we should seek to return as soon as possible,” said Vasco. “It’s getting dark.”

“Can you stand?” Kurt asked Goran. “And do we have to bind your hands, or will you swear on your honor that you won’t try to escape?” 

“I’ll swear,” he agreed. “I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. I don’t think I can walk. My ribs…”

De Sardet supplied a healing potion; she knew that Siora would balk at healing the man. As it was, Siora frowned and demanded, “You would waste your medicine on him?”

“Would you rather we leave him here for the scavengers to eat? If we hadn’t found him, that’s what would’ve happened to him,” Kurt shot back. “One of those _ulg_ would have come and torn him apart.”

“And then we would not have known that your mother was still alive, or where she was being held,” de Sardet added. “We will pursue her tomorrow.”

They made their way back to Vedrhais, Goran in tow. Vasco tried to make conversation with the man. “Goran isn’t a name that’s common among the Coin Guard.”

“I’m from Al Adar. I enlisted when I was eighteen. Wanted to see the world.” He coughed again. “My term is up next month.”

“Are you re-enlisting?” asked Vasco.

“After this? It’s not what I signed up for. I wanted to be on the continent, fighting Theleme and its inquisitors.” Goran limped onward. “But my mother’s sick, her medicine is expensive…and they were offering a bonus to come here.”

De Sardet looked to Siora; Siora was refusing to look at their prisoner, but she was sure she had overheard. _He is a man, not a monster. He has a mother who cares about him, family who would miss him._

They returned to Vedrhais to find that Goran was not the only prisoner; a woman greeted them as they came stumbling into the village in the dark. “Another lion? Put him in the cage with the others,” she said. “Eseld wants to question them.”

“This one has already given us information,” said Siora. “I must speak to Eseld.”

“She is with Arwant,” said the woman. “She would not have him see to her wound until all others were treated.”

They met with Eseld in Arwant’s hut; the healer was stitching a wound on her arm with fine silken thread.

“ _Matir_ is alive,” Siora said before Eseld could even greet her. “The lions took her. We found one of them wounded beneath her banner. He told us.”

“He has told us where she is being kept,” said de Sardet.

“Then we will take our warriors and bring her back!”

“No,” said de Sardet. “I promised him that we would not use that information to attack, only to negotiate her release.”

“You had no right—”

“Your people are in no shape to attack a Bridger outpost,” Kurt interrupted bluntly. “You lost too many warriors. Those who are left are wounded and demoralized. The Bridge can always bring in reinforcements from Hikmet; can you do the same?”

“We could call upon other clans,” Eseld said, her voice tinged with desperation. “Derdre might lend us her storm warriors.”

“At what cost? We owe her already. And how much time would it take?” Siora asked. “I will go with her. I will bring _Matir_ home.”

“I will go as well.”

“You cannot. You must stay and lead our people. It is what _Matir_ would want.”

“Do not talk to me of what _Matir_ would want. _Matir_ wanted both of us to fight at her side, but you left to seek allies.”

“Because _Matir_ asked it of me! I came as soon as I could.”

“We wasted no time,” said de Sardet. “We took as little time to prepare as possible, and took the shortest route to the battlefield. I’m so sorry—”

“It would not have made a difference. You did not come to fight, and _Matir_ would not have agreed to make peace.” Eseld waved her arm, knocking Arwant back; the needle flew from his hands, but she scarcely seemed to notice. “Do you not see why we cannot have peace? The lions steal and slaughter our people, but we are not sheep.”

“We will get _Matir_ back,” said Siora. “But the _on ol menawi_ is right. We do not have enough people to march on their fortress. We cannot lead the rest of our people to their death. _Matir_ would not want that.”

“Let the _on ol menawi_ talk to the lions. She kept me from killing the man who told us that _Matir_ lives. She may be able to convince them to return _Matir_ to us.”

“You have prisoners of war,” said de Sardet. “Do not harm them. We may be able to convince the Bridge Alliance to return your mother in exchange for those prisoners, along with any others they may have taken from the battlefield.”

“We should visit them,” said Kurt. “Get their names, ranks, all of that. If we have a record to present their commander, he may be more willing to negotiate.”

De Sardet nodded.

“Before we do any of that, we should set up camp and eat,” said Vasco.

“There is no need to make camp. Eseld, they will sleep in our home tonight.”

“We do not have enough sleeping mats.”

“We can retrieve blankets from the wagon,” said de Sardet. “Or we can set up camp; I don’t want to trouble you.”

“They are our guests, Eseld,” said Siora. “She is _on ol menawi_ , and—” She switched to her own language, speaking rapidly.

Eseld blinked, looking at de Sardet, then at the men standing behind her. “You have healed our dead, and showed compassion to the dying. You are our guests.” She looked to Arwant. “You were trying to convince me to eat. I will do so, but only once they have been fed.” She looked to de Sardet. “Go to your wagon; retrieve your blankets. Your pack animal has already been fed and watered.”

They did as she asked, and Siora led them to her home. De Sardet hadn’t realized how hungry she was until Siora handed her a plate of hot food, roasted meat, a native grain mixed with peas, and some dried fruit, along with water to wash it down. She devoured it nearly as quickly as Kurt, finishing just before Vasco, but Siora had less of an appetite.

“Best eat, pretty twig,” Kurt told her. “You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

De Sardet was exhausted, but when it came time to fall asleep, she found she had difficulty. Her mind was too awake, swimming with unwanted memories of the sights she’d glimpsed: two men who had died at each other’s hand, one impaled on a spear, the other with a bullet hole through his heart; a native woman who looked as if she’d been stabbed in the back while bent over a fallen friend; a Bridge Alliance soldier who had reminded her disconcertingly of Kurt. _So many dead, and for what? If only we had arrived sooner, perhaps we could have stopped it._

She rose and went outside, looking up at the stars. _Siora’s mother is still alive. What about mine? People who are parted often say they look up at the same stars, but Mother cannot see them._

She heard noise from behind her, and turned to see Kurt. “Green Blood. You should get some rest.”

“I can’t.” She bit her lip. “But you should try to sleep. There’s no sense in both of us being tired tomorrow.”

“You have some knowledge of herbs and potions. Couldn’t you make something to help you sleep?”

“I don’t know that anything will help,” she confessed. “You tried to warn me, but…”

“If I could have kept you from having to see that, I would have. The priests of Theleme say that hell is a pit of fire followed by eternal darkness, but I’d rather spend eternity alone in the darkness than in a battle with the worst war has to offer.”

“I don’t think anything could have prepared me for that,” she confessed. The mangled and bloodied bodies everywhere, the cries of the wounded, the last gasps of the dying, the sights and smells and sounds, each more horrific than the last: it had very nearly been more than she could bear. “I think that the only thing that kept me from running away was the knowledge that there were still people alive who we could save…but for every person we helped, there were so many others we couldn’t.” Alexandra de Sardet had a little knowledge of the sciences, but she was no healer: she could bandage wounds, brew healing potions, and set a broken bone, but she felt hopelessly inadequate on the battlefield.

 _Siora’s people have healing magic._ She had watched as Siora had pressed one hand to a woman’s wound, the other to the earth, murmuring something in Yecht Fradi; a moment later, the woman had straightened and walked away, albeit painfully. _I do not know if she would teach me, but I would like to learn._

“You did everything you could,” said Kurt. “You can’t blame yourself for this, Green Blood. Even if we had gotten here sooner, you might not have been able to stop the fighting. It’s been going on for a long time.”

“I know.” De Sardet sighed. “But…”

“You kept Siora from killing that soldier. You found out that her mother’s still alive, and you might be able to bring her home safely. You healed as many of the wounded as you could. It’s all you could have done.”

“You were younger than I am now the first time you went to war. How did you sleep?”

“After my first battle? I was exhausted,” Kurt admitted. “And it wasn’t the first time I’d seen a dead man. But I still had nightmares; I think most of us did." He paused, and for a moment, his thoughts seemed a thousand miles away. “You get used to it, eventually. Learn to live with it. I wish I knew how to make it better, but there’s no sense to war, and no reason. Men die who you think should have lived, and some you don’t think stand a chance end up being fiercer than the rest. Some survive a dozen battles and die in the next; others get cut down in their first charge. It’s about being lucky as well as good, and fighting even though you’re terrified, and trying to hold onto who and what you are, so you can live with yourself after.” He shook his head. “I know it’s no help.”

“You’ve helped more than you think,” she reassured him. “Thank you.”


	40. The Outpost

They set out for the outpost the next day; Kurt had gotten the roster of the prisoners, recording whether they were enlisted or officers of the Coin Guard, or in the regiment of soldiers directly under control of the Bridge Alliance; there were far more of the former than the latter. He also recorded their names, ranks, and condition; most were likely to survive, but Arwant, the healer from Vedrhais, had expressed his doubts about a few.

The road was arduous: the scavengers had indeed found the aftermath of the battle, and they had to fight off both a pack of _vaileg_ that had descended upon the field as well as a camp full of bandits that had set up just to the north of the battlefield. De Sardet breathed a sigh of relief when the timber-walled fort of the Bridge Alliance finally came into view, flying their green-and-azure flag. 

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“De Sardet, the legate of the Merchant Congregation.” De Sardet had chosen to wear a fine embroidered doublet of midnight blue, with her blue cape and a finely polished pair of boots: it wasn’t the sturdiest armor she might have worn for the day’s journey, but she’d known how important appearances would be when speaking to the outpost’s commander.

The gravel-voiced guard looked her up and down, then eyed her companions. “Oh, well, _you_ can come in, Your Excellency, but this savage, on the other hand…”

Siora made no attempt to hide her anger. “Am I the one you call a savage, _renaigse_?”

“This young lady is the princess of her people, and she is with me. As such, I would appreciate it if you would let us through.” The ploy had worked with the palace guards back in New Serene, and it worked again here: the man grimaced, but nodded.

“Very well, Your Excellency, please go and find the captain! I’d feel better knowing he gave you his endorsement.”

They did so; de Sardet was slightly surprised to see that the man wore a brown kaftan and orange silk turban of an officer of the Bridge Alliance, rather than the doublet of a member of the Coin Guard. “Well, who are you?” the captain demanded as they entered.

“De Sardet, legate of the Merchant Congregation. I understand that your men were recently involved in the battle that took place to the south of here.”

“They were at that. What do you care?” His eyes narrowed as he took in de Sardet’s companions. “It’s an odd choice of companions you have there.” The man stroked his beard. “A bodyguard is understandable enough, though I’m surprised you’d venture into the wilderness with only one…but a savage and a Naut? We’re far from the sea, and the Congregation is allied with the Bridge, not the savages.”

“The Congregation is indeed allied with the Bridge, but that does not preclude wishing for good relations with the native peoples of Teer Fradee,” de Sardet replied. “I would be glad to introduce you to my companions, Captain….” 

“Domeric.” Domeric folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair; the sense of unfriendliness was palpable. “Of the Green-Azure. Obviously.”

“Captain Domeric,” de Sardet said smoothly, as if he’d greeted them kindly, “I have recently arrived on Teer Fradee, and hope to learn more about the situation with our allies. Princess Siora had requested that I serve as mediator between your people, in the hopes that we could avert the battle; although I was too late, I hope to do what I can in the hopes of averting future conflict.” She paused. “Why are you at war with the natives?”

“Because they reject our presence! They have been attacking us for months. These savages, they stubbornly refuse civilization, and our men pay the price.”

“Spoken like a true member of the Bridge,” Vasco muttered underneath his breath.

Domeric glowered at Siora. “We can’t let them slaughter us without reacting!”

Siora glowered back. “Since you arrived here, you have destroyed the forests and ripped open the earth. And people disappear in our villages, the _on ol menawi_ first! We are only defending ourselves, and _we_ are the savages?”

Domeric leaned back in his chair. “Since we have defeated you, you can believe what you like!” He looked back to de Sardet scornfully. “Anything else?”

“I feel as if I ought to introduce my companions properly. This is Captain Kurt of the Blue-Silver Regiment, head of the palace guard in New Serene; as you have surmised, Governor d’Orsay has also charged him with my protection.” She nodded to Vasco. “May I also present Captain Vasco of the Nauts. His admiral has assigned him to be a liaison between our peoples, in the hopes of continuing to strengthen our alliance.” She took a step closer to Siora, gesturing toward her as she did so. “And please allow me to introduce Siora, the daughter of Queen Bladnid, who you faced on the battlefield. We understand that you brought her mother here, and I would like to negotiate her liberation.”

Domeric let out a guffaw. “Her liberation? That’ll prove difficult! She’s dead.” 

_No,_ de Sardet thought. She knew how hopeful Siora had been of finding her mother alive, and her own thoughts during the journey had centered around how they would negotiate Queen Bladnid’s release. _I thought we would find her alive. Wounded, perhaps, but alive._

Siora was equally dismayed; she let out a soft cry, quickly stifled, but not before it drew a smirk from the captain. _I cannot believe it. How could anyone be so cruel? Siora has lost her mother, and your reaction is to find amusement at the sight of her grief?_ It took all of her strength to keep from lashing out at the man in a way that would have been wholly inappropriate for a legate.

Where De Sardet was appalled by his callousness, Siora was enraged. “No! No, you let her die! You may even have finished her off like an agonizing animal!”

“We didn’t need to,” Domeric protested. “When we collected her up from the battlefield, she was severely wounded. She died on her way to the camp.”

“I want to see her body, _on ol menawi_ ,” Siora said, turning to de Sardet. “Please, I must see her!”

De Sardet turned to face Captain Domeric. “Can we see her, Captain?”

“If you’re the one who is asking, Your Excellency, it should be possible.” He eased back in his chair. “You’re in luck. We were thinking about getting rid of it, but we received the order to keep her body. It’s still at the infirmary. Ask the doctor, he’ll show it to you.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Domeric nodded. “If that’s all…” Without waiting for a reply, he bent to his papers.

“We shall return after we have seen her,” de Sardet said. “I do have other matters to discuss, but they will have to wait.” Domeric ignored her. “Will you be available?”

“Doctor Selim will show you to the queen’s body,” Domeric replied, his voice rising in annoyance. “If there’s something he can’t handle for you, return, but I don’t know what else you’d want.” 

Siora managed to retain some semblance of composure until they’d left the captain’s quarters; only then did she let out a choked sob, bending over. “Siora, I’m terribly sorry,” de Sardet said, knowing how inadequate the words were.

“Let’s go see her now,” Siora said miserably. “I need to.”

Both Kurt and Vasco were clearly affected by her grief. “I’m sorry, pretty flower, I really am,” Kurt said quietly.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Siora,” Vasco added. 

De Sardet wasn’t sure if Siora heard either of them; her eyes darted around, searching for the infirmary, as soon as they set foot outside, and de Sardet had barely finished described the building she’d sighted to the right of the entrance before Siora took off running. “Siora, wait!” she called out, worried about what might happen if Siora got ahead of the rest of their group, but once more Siora didn’t seem to hear; instead, de Sardet broke into a run, Kurt and Vasco matching her pace as they followed Siora.

They caught up with her just as she reached the infirmary door. A lone doctor, presumably Selim, was inside; just as the captain had, he demanded to know who they were without introducing himself, and just as before, de Sardet introduced herself as the legate of the Merchant Congregation and Siora as Queen Bladnid’s daughter.

“I would like to see her,” Siora said shakily. “I need to see her. Please.”

The outpost’s doctor was kinder than its commander had been. “My condolences, madam. The body of your mother is back there, in the room on the left.”

Siora led the way; de Sardet and her companions followed, passing several other sheet-covered bodies that were laid out on tables.

Queen Bladnid’s body was not covered. De Sardet saw it immediately: the body of a native woman in leather armor, her face daubed in the white paint of her people with red highlights around the eyes, her hair the same shade as Siora’s. She might have been in her mid-forties; the paint made it hard to tell. She had a proud, hard face, stern in death, with a prominent nose and strong cheekbones; seeing her, de Sardet got the sense that she would have been fearsome on the battlefield.

“ _Matir_! _Na_ ,” Siora sobbed. Stumbling forward, she leaned over her mother’s body, looking her in the face; tears dropped from her cheeks onto Bladnid’s, and her shoulders shook.

De Sardet was uncomfortable; she remembered her own grief when her mother had been diagnosed with the malichor, and how terrible she had felt about the idea of anyone else bearing witness to that sorrow. _We haven’t known each other for a week,_ she thought, and yet Siora’s grief was raw, her feelings entirely exposed.

“I should give you some privacy while you are mourning,” she said quietly. “We won’t be far.”

She didn’t know if Siora heard; she was leaning over her mother’s body, brushing the hair from her face before resting a palm against her forehead. “ _Andevaurshd tir to, Matir_. _Men se dad en on mil frichtimen_.”

De Sardet left her to grieve, retreating with Kurt, Vasco, and Doctor Selim. “Did you lose many?” she asked the doctor.

“Not as many as the natives, apparently, but yes,” Selim replied. “It was a great and bloody battle.” He shook his head. “A terrible defeat for the natives, but what good does it do? All we’ve won is their enmity. We killed their queen, but that will only make them hate us all the more.”

“What do you know of the natives’ accusations? Have you been involved with abducting natives…more specifically, natives who have a birthmark like mine?”

“A birthmark,” said Selim, eyeing her face in a way that made her uncomfortable. “Is that what you think that is?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it. I was born with it, and it must be the same for the natives. It seems far more common here than in the Congregation, but surely it is no different from a port-wine stain or the more ordinary sort of birthmark?”

Selim frowned; he was a strange-looking man who lacked eyebrows, but she suspected that if he had possessed them, they would have risen halfway up his forehead. “We’ve had no part in abducting the natives,” he said. “Why would we want to steal away savages? Whether or not any enterprising merchants of the Bridge have turned slaver or what other private individuals may have done, I could not say, but Governor Burhan certainly has given no such order.”

“And Captain Domeric?”

Selim pursed his lips. “That man’s corruption is of a different nature. He has no interest in taking natives captive, or doing anything that might bring the notice of his superiors.”

Before she could say pursue the matter, Siora burst through the door. “I must take her with me, _on ol menawi_! We must perform the rituals!” She led her back into the room with Bladnid’s body, where she sat down on the edge of the table that held her mother’s body, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“The captain said he was instructed to keep her body. It will not be easy to convince him to disobey.”

“I do not care about the captain’s orders! She is my mother, she must be given back to the earth.”

That struck home with de Sardet. She thought of her own mother, and how she would feel if anyone had tried to deny her the ability to bury her properly. _At least I know my uncle will give Mother a proper burial. He will give her a grand funeral, with a hundred hired mourners to walk the streets of Serene, and the grandest statue in House de Sardet’s family tomb that money can buy._ “So, let’s go back to see him and try to make him change his mind.”

“You can try, but with all due respect, I doubt you will succeed,” Selim interjected. He went on to detail his suspicions that Captain Domeric was a traitor to his regiment, and that he had made a deal with Theleme, supplying them with arms in exchange for gold. He detailed everything they might need to uncover the man’s treason, even telling them that most of the outpost’s guards had returned to Hikmet following the battle.

“Thank you, Doctor,” de Sardet said, and turned to go, but Siora lingered near her mother’s body, reluctant to leave her side.

De Sardet approached her. “I know how hard it is to leave her here,” she said, “but we must petition the captain for her release. If you come with me, you may be able to help. I do not know if my words alone will be enough.”

“He will not listen to me. To the lions, we are not people.”

“He may,” de Sardet said. “He must have some compassion. If we can awaken that in him…” She looked at Bladnid’s body, and thought of her own mother. _Is she lying alone in a coffin somewhere? My uncle would surely keep her out of sight. Would anyone stay with her body before the burial?_ Even as she had the thought, she could not help but feel guilty for the implication that her mother was dead. _Do not bury her before her time,_ she told herself. _Even now, she may be writing you a letter._ But that brought other thoughts of guilt: she could not help but imagine her mother shut up in a room alone, bereft of all visitors, waiting for death. _I should not have gone,_ she thought, even while she knew she could not have stayed.

“I’m so sorry, Siora, but we cannot stay here,” she said aloud. “We will bring her back to your village, I promise, but we cannot do so without the captain’s permission, and we must obtain it. Will you help me?”

Phrased that way, Siora had no choice but to give in. She pressed her hand against her mother’s, then leaned over to kiss her forehead, taking a moment to brush her mother’s hair back from her forehead after she did so.

“ _Matir_ ,” she said, then murmured something else in the native tongue that de Sardet could not understand; it sounded like a promise, and ended with the words “ _cair to_.”

“I will not fail you,” Vasco said very softly, and de Sardet realized he was providing a translation from his own limited knowledge of the language. “I promise…I love you.”

“We will not fail,” de Sardet promised Siora. _I will make sure you can bury your mother. I don’t care if I have to bribe this wretched man, or if we have to smuggle her out of here in the dark somehow, but I will not let them take her from you._ In truth, de Sardet could not imagine why the Bridge Alliance might want to keep the queen. _To mount her head upon the walls of their city, as a warning of what happens to those who resist them? I would have thought the Bridge Alliance above such barbarism. They took her because they wanted a captive, but she is of no use to them now, unless it is because they hope to ransom her body for a substantial payment._

 _If it comes to it, I’ll pay them myself._ She didn’t know what Constantin might think of that, or of what her uncle would say if he learned that she had paid off their allies to help a group of natives who had fought against them. _I don’t care. It would be wrong to do anything else. If my uncle doesn’t like it, he can let me go home._

Siora detached herself from her mother, and they left the infirmary. As they did, Kurt spoke. “Did you hear what that doctor said about the outpost captain? That’s a serious charge.”

“I don’t see that it has anything to do with us,” said Vasco. “Unless we can use the information to blackmail him into releasing the queen’s body, that is.”

“The man’s committing treason.”

“Against the Bridge Alliance. I don’t see how that concerns us.”

Kurt turned to de Sardet, and she could see how unhappy he looked. “Captain Domeric is a member of the Coin Guard, and the idea that he’s betraying his regiment doesn’t sit well with me.” 

“He’s not part of your regiment, now, is he?” Vasco asked.

“We cannot risk losing _Matir_ ’s body,” Siora added.

“Selim spoke of Domeric transporting weapons,” Kurt pointed out. “Don’t you remember the crates that Commander Torsten ordered me to smuggle into New Serene?”

“Commander Torsten is the regional commander for Teer Fradee,” de Sardet said, mulling that idea over. “As such, he does have command over the forces for the Congregation, the Bridge Alliance, and Theleme, and he would be able to control shipments of arms between the three.”

“I can’t believe that sort of corruption could rise that high,” said Kurt. “But maybe it’s someone in his office who has charge of this. Any of the adjutants serving the commander would help administer all three divisions of the Guard on the island.”

“How does that work?” Vasco asked. “We Nauts may aid a nation in naval warfare from time to time, but we would never agree to fight against our fellow Nauts.”

“The Coin Guard does not typically fight other Coin Guard.” Kurt frowned. “It did happen sometimes in the war between the Bridge and Theleme, but they charged a premium for the contract on both sides. I never liked it.”

“Being paid to kill your brothers,” said Vasco. “I wouldn’t like it either.”

“But why would a member of the Coin Guard be involved in secretly funneling arms from one nation to another? As you said, the Coin Guard does not typically supply its own arms; those are provided by the contracting nation.”

“Profit,” Vasco suggested. “The Bridge is known for the quality of its armaments; Theleme might pay a pretty penny for their guns, in particular.” He patted the pistol at his hip. “I won this in a card game in Al Adar, a few years before I made captain, and it’s a fair sight better than anything I’ve ever seen in port at San Matheus or Lacillion.”

“That might make sense if it’s just the actions of this commander, but not if it extends to the upper ranks,” said de Sardet. “Discovery would surely risk the Coin Guard’s contract with the Bridge Alliance.” She looked to Kurt. “The merchant we took our own smuggled cargo from in Serene was from the Bridge.”

“I remember,” said Kurt. He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’d rather believe. If this is all related, it suggests there’s corruption in the Guard at a higher level than I’d like to think possible. If it isn’t, then there’s a corrupt commander at this outpost, but there’s someone else who arranged for us to smuggle weapons into New Serene, and we don’t know who or why.”

“So there are multiple corrupt officers of the Coin Guard conducting unrelated schemes, or corruption at some higher level for reasons unknown,” said Vasco.

“I don’t like it, Green Blood.”

“Neither do I,” she agreed. “While it will certainly be dangerous to investigate, I think we are obligated to do so. We will secure the return of your mother’s body first, Siora, but after that we will still need to negotiate the exchange of prisoners between the Bridge Alliance and your people. That will be the right time for us to learn more." That seemed to satisfy all her companions, and she halted in front of the door to the captain’s quarters. “I will do my best to convince him, Siora,” she promised. “If we cannot, then I do not like the idea of resorting to…less savory measures…but Captain Vasco may be right.” De Sardet hated the idea of blackmail; it was far too reminiscent of her uncle’s court, with its countless intrigues and endless artifice. _But Siora deserves to have her mother back._ Even so, she hoped her words would be enough to persuade the captain. _If he were killed, surely he would want his body returned to his people for a proper burial, not taken by his enemies. He must have pity on her._

As she entered his quarters, she found her heart sinking: the captain was brusque, his manner taciturn and unfriendly, as he glanced up from his papers. “Your Excellency. What do you want?”

“We would like to retrieve the remains of the queen…bring her back to her people and her family…”

“That will not be possible, Your Excellency. As I told you, the governor specifically asked us to keep her. He wants her delivered to one of his scholars who wanted to study her.”

Siora looked horrified, and de Sardet shared that horror. _What would I do if someone told me they wanted to experiment on Mother’s body? After all, she died of the malichor, and there are certainly many physicians who study the disease._ The idea of her mother’s body being dissected and torn apart by a cold-eyed physician sent a thrill of horror through her veins. _It would only be worse if she had been taken by someone who was the lifelong enemy of my people._

“You have lost a lot of men in this battle,” she said. “How would you feel if someone prevented you from giving them a proper burial?” As she spoke, de Sardet tried not to think too hard about the men the captain had left on the field, the mounds of dead corpses of Bridge Alliance soldiers who had been left behind to be desecrated by their enemies or to feed the wild animals that had descended up on the field. _What if this captain is so cold-hearted that he does not care? After all, he must have given the order to leave them behind._ But she thought she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes as he spoke, and pressed on. “If you knew that their corpses would be given to some scholars to be dissected? Wouldn’t you want to have them back?”

“You have a way with words, Your Excellency,” he admitted. “Yes, I would like to give them a proper grave. Take her with you! I will find an excuse to give the governor’s men when they come.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I wish we could have given our own men a proper burial,” said Domeric. “But our orders were clear: retreat to the outpost once the battle was won. Do not hold the field. We feared that reinforcements would come, and the natives know the terrain better than we do…not to mention that wretched earth magic of theirs.”

“We will return them to the earth,” Siora said. “I do not know the rites of your people, but they will be put into the earth, into one grave, where they fell.”

“The Bridge Alliance does not have a single burial rite,” Domeric answered. “The Bridge is made up of a dozen smaller kingdoms, each with its own rites, and there were guards who’d been recruited from other lands. But most of the men here would have wanted to have been buried by sundown the day after they fell, with little in the way of ritual. So long as they’re put in the ground before the beasts can devour them, I’d say you’ve done right by them.”

“Better than you,” Kurt said, folding his arms across his chest.

“What was I supposed to do, Captain? Orders are orders.”

“You could have held the field for as long as you could. Or loaded up your supply wagons, taken as many bodies with you as you could. The natives aren’t savages; they believe in burying their dead, the same as us. You could have negotiated a truce to take the bodies from the field.”

“We’ve done so now,” de Sardet interrupted. “Queen Bladnid will be given a proper burial, and Siora has given you her word: your own soldiers will not be left to rot.”

“He knows they couldn’t leave them, Green Blood,” Kurt told her. “The Green-Azure is known for that. Leave the bodies so the enemy has to take the time to deal with them, or face plague.”

Domeric eyed him. “You wouldn’t learn that from serving with the Blue-Silver. Were you in the Green-Azure, or the Red Sun?”

“Both,” Kurt answered. “I wasn’t fond of either, but at least the priests believe in taking the time to bury the dead – or burn them, as the case may be.”

“Though they don’t always wait to make sure their enemies are dead before lighting the pyre,” Domeric retorted. “In fact, those inquisitors delight in it.”

“Like I said, I wasn’t fond of either.”

“Captain Domeric,” de Sardet intervened, “We will depart with the queen’s body tomorrow morning, but may we sleep within the walls of your outpost tonight?”

“You’ll want to be fed as well, I assume.” He didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll give the orders. Pitch your tents, then make your way to the officers’ mess. You’ll eat as well as I do, though I doubt it’s the fine fare a noble like you is used to.”

“We will return,” de Sardet said. “The natives at Vedrhais have taken prisoners of war and would like to negotiate an exchange of prisoners, if you have taken any of your own.”

Domeric frowned. “I was planning on placating the governor’s men with the promise of some savages to experiment on,” he said, “but if you’ve got some of my men…”

“I have a list,” said Kurt. Taking it from his pocket, he started reading off names, ranks, and assignments.

He’d only reached the third name on the list before Domeric broke in. “I’ll make that trade,” he said. “All of my men for all the natives. But I’ll want some of mine released first, as a show of good faith.”

“We can discuss that upon my return,” said de Sardet. “In the meantime, I would like to see the prisoners, and take a list of their names.”

“I can speak with them after supper,” said Vasco. “I speak a little of the natives’ tongue, but it should be enough to get their names and a bit about them. I’ll make a list for you, the way Kurt did with the captured Coin Guard.” He looked to Siora. “If I can’t understand them, or if I need help, I’ll come and get you, but I know you’ll want to stay near your mother.”


	41. Burying Bladnid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've altered the order of Siora's quests here to move up Bladnid's burial, because the way it's presented in-game is utterly ridiculous - Bladnid's body literally lays out for months in a best-case scenario. This way, the poor queen gets a timely burial. The missionaries will still be addressed, but this is the one place where I've altered quest order in a big way to improve the narrative and chronology. 
> 
> In-game, the earliest you can bury Bladnid is over three months after she dies, and that's a compressed game timeline where you only count the days spent doing quests (and burying Bladnid at the 3-month mark, as soon as the quest is available, would involve abandoning the search for Constantin, who's missing at that point. Do that, and it jumps to 3.5 months...still without the "missing time" of things like staying in New Serene for days to weeks immediately post-coup, de Sardet having time in cities not doing quests, and the arena challenge taking more than 1 day.) So here, Bladnid gets properly buried within a few days of her death!

The captain allowed them to take a meal in the camp’s dining hall, in addition to permitting them to make camp within the walls of the fort that night; he had no spare outbuildings for them, but simply pitching their tents within the confines of the outpost walls was a relief. “No need to cook, and no need for anyone to keep watch,” Vasco said with satisfaction as the Bridge’s cook handed them each a full plate, generously portioned.

 _I’ve never been partial to Bridger cooking, but this is good._ He devoured the food with gusto, washing it down with the thick dark beer that was the Bridge’s standard drink for its soldiers. _Now there’s something I haven’t had in a long while._ He’d been stationed briefly with the Green-Azure, early in his career, but had nearly forgotten about the drink. _You can almost chew it._

Vasco seemed to find it palatable, but he saw both de Sardet and Siora were less eager to drink. _Green Blood is eating, at least._ Siora’s plate was largely untouched.

“I know grief takes your appetite, pretty twig, but you need to keep up your strength,” he told her.

“That is not it. I do not want to take their food,” said Siora. “They are my enemy. To take their food is an insult to all those who died fighting them.”

“You are an emissary of your people,” de Sardet pointed out. “As such, you are under a flag of truce, and are not bound to refuse food and drink from your enemies. In fact, our ambassadors would be expected to eat with their enemies as a sign of goodwill. Do your people not have a similar custom? I thought that you said you did.”

Siora nodded reluctantly. “I do not feel like an emissary,” she admitted, “but you are right, _on ol menawi_.” She ate, but sparingly, and ended up pushing her plate to Kurt. “Eat, _cengots_ ,” she told him. “I do not want any more.”

“Are you sure?”

When she insisted, Kurt took the plate, and Siora rose. “I am going to stay with _Matir_ ’s body.”

“If Doctor Selim has no objection—” de Sardet began.

Siora’s eyes flashed. “I do not care what he thinks. She is my mother. I will stay with her body until we leave this place. I will not leave her alone here.”

“I’ll fetch you if I need to, but I hope I have enough of your tongue to take down names,” said Vasco.

“Thank you,” said Siora. She hesitated. “I am sorry for what I said on the battlefield. That you could not understand because you had no family of your own. It was cruel, and wrong.”

“It was true,” Vasco admitted. “I’ve never known what it was to have a mother. I could never know that sort of grief, because I’ve never had someone I loved as much as you love her.”

“ _Moridigen_ —”

“It’s true,” Vasco said, his voice rough. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Maybe I should be glad. After all, that’s one grief I’ll never know.” He reached over and took the mug Siora had left untouched, drinking it down, then rose. “I’ll go see to those prisoners now, de Sardet.”

Siora and Vasco both headed off, and Kurt was left with de Sardet, who looked equally sad. “I miss her so much,” she said as they left the mess, heading for the plot of open land where they’d been allowed to pitch their tents. “Seeing the queen…I don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight. I keep thinking that I’ll close my eyes and see Mother in Queen Bladnid’s place.”

“I’m sorry, Green Blood. I really am.”

“I thought we were going to rescue her,” said de Sardet. “I thought that we would find her alive…perhaps wounded, but nothing that the Bridge’s medicine or Siora’s healing magic couldn’t cure. I was worried that the Bridge wouldn’t want to release her, not that I would have to negotiate the release of her body.” Tears came to her eyes. “I shouldn’t cry. I should be comforting Siora. Her mother is gone, and…” She wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. “Do you think my mother is still alive?”

Kurt remembered Jeanne de Sardet as she had been the last time he’d seen her: blind, confined to her chair, with black veins spread across every inch of visible skin. _If she isn’t dead, she’s probably hoping for death. The malichor isn’t a pleasant way to die._ “There’s no way to know,” he said. “I’m sure your uncle will send word when it happens.”

“I knew when we left that I would never see her again. I knew that she was dying. But I didn’t think it would be this hard. I miss her so much, and the thought that I won’t get to be there for her funeral, or make sure that everything is done properly, or that it may be years before I’ll ever be able to visit her tomb…”

“Your uncle will see to all of that, Green Blood. He’ll make sure everything is done right.” Kurt hesitated; de Sardet looked so alone and forlorn that he wanted to comfort her, but something still gave him pause: he was her guard, she was a noblewoman, and they were no longer aboard the _Sea Horse_ , where that hadn’t seemed to matter half as much.

“I know, but…” De Sardet lost her composure entirely, sinking to the ground in front of her tent. “I wish I had stayed with her. I wish I’d never left. Siora feels she failed her mother by not being with her, but at least she’ll see her laid to rest. I abandoned her.”

She looked so miserable that all concerns about propriety left him. _To hell with it,_ he thought, sinking down in the dirt next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t abandon her, Green Blood. She wanted you to leave.”

“Do you think Siora’s mother would have wanted her to watch her die? Do you think she’d have wanted her to see one of those Bridger soldiers put a bullet in her chest?” Bladnid had fallen to a soldier’s rifle; Kurt had seen a pair of bullet holes that had torn through Bladnid’s armor, one in her shoulder, another that looked as if it had gone through a lung. _A bad wound, but not bad enough to kill her quickly. I hope Siora doesn’t know what she suffered, but the little one’s a healer and a fighter, and she’s seen war. I’m sure she knows._

He wondered if de Sardet knew that. “She wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to watch her die,” Kurt said, not wanting her to dwell on it if she did. “She wouldn’t have wanted Siora to see her in pain. No parent wants that for their kid. I told you, I think that’s why my wet-nurse gave me over to the Coin Guard when she did. The Guard’s no place for a five-year-old, but she thought it was better than spending a year watching her die, especially when I was too young to understand.” She leaned against him, resting her head against his arm. “Your mother sent you here because she didn’t want you to see her in pain. She knew what it would mean, and that it would be hard on both of you, but she knew it was better this way. It’s how she wanted things to be.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can,” he said. “She told me. When she asked me to come to Teer Fradee.” De Sardet shifted, turning to look at him, and he saw her searching his face, trying to figure out if he spoke the truth. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m a bad liar, you know that.”

“You always say what you think,” she said softly. “I didn’t know she asked you to come.”

“She wanted someone to look after you. She said she wanted you to be happy here, that she didn’t want you waiting around in Serene for her to die. She worried for you, Green Blood. Not for herself. For you.”

“Siora’s mother sent her to find allies…but maybe she sent her away to protect her, too. In case the worst happened. You saw her sister; you know she’s a fighter. Siora’s a fighter too, but…she’s more like you. Gentler.”

“You think she’s gentle?”

Kurt thought of the way she’d nearly choked a wounded soldier to death…but also of the way she’d rocked back on her heels, weeping, after de Sardet had talked her down. “Gentler than her sister, anyway. I think her mother wanted to protect her, the same way your mother wanted to protect you.”

“Don’t blame yourself for leaving, Green Blood. It’s what she wanted. I know it’s hard, not being there, not knowing what happened.” He thought of Clara, and how confused and lonely he’d been in his first nights away from her, taken from a woman who’d loved him dearly and given over to harsh instructors in a cold barracks. “At least you know why she did it.”

“You didn’t abandon her. She’d have been unhappier if you’d stayed. I wish I could convince you of it.” He fell silent, fumbling for words. _I’m no diplomat. I don’t know what else to say._

But it seemed to be enough. “I should be comforting Siora,” de Sardet murmured.

“You got her mother back for her. She’ll see her properly buried because of you.” _We’ll stay in Vedrhais for the funeral, I’m sure. That might be good for her._ Alexandra de Sardet couldn’t see her own mother buried, but Kurt suspected that watching Siora bury her own mother might help. _If she sees that and knows it’s thanks to her, maybe she’ll be able to forgive herself for not being able to do the same for her own mother._

De Sardet brushed at her eyes; as she looked up, Kurt saw that her face was a mess: her face was bright red, her eyes inflamed, her eyes and nose streaming. “I shouldn’t have done this,” she said uncertainly, looking embarrassed. She started to get to her feet, and Kurt helped her up. “My doublet—”

“It’ll clean up fine. A little dust, that’s all. It’s not as if you don’t have others. Besides, I’d feel better if you wore armor for the walk back. I’d rather see you more protected when we’re traveling, especially with so many beasts on that battlefield.” De Sardet was fumbling with her handkerchief; Kurt took it from her, wiping down her face. “There you go,” he said; he felt awkward, and the words came out a little more abruptly than he’d meant them to. “Get some rest, Green Blood. It’ll be all right.”

Captain Domeric actually sent an escort of men with them to return Bladnid’s body. “They’ll stop at the battlefield on the way back, bury those they can, if the natives haven’t.” Kurt noticed that he didn’t call them ‘savages’ for once. “I’ll expect you back soon, Legate.”

“I will return as soon as I can,” said de Sardet. “I am not familiar with the natives’ burial customs; I may need to stay in Vedrhais until the queen is buried. But I assure you, the natives’ prisoners of war will be well-treated, and I hope you will continue to do the same for those natives you have taken prisoner. Please, do not allow Governor Burhan to take them away for experimentation; if his men protest, inform them that I will personally register the Congregation’s displeasure with him when I have a chance to visit Hikmet. I have not yet had the chance to visit the city for a formal introduction, but I will do so as soon as matters here are concluded.”

 _We have yet to visit San Matheus and Hikmet,_ Kurt realized, _and we’ll have to stay here to bury the queen and oversee the prisoner exchange._ While he was glad to remain with de Sardet, he hadn’t realized how much his duties as her bodyguard would interfere with his duties at the palace. _I have clear standing orders for the protection of both Green Blood and Constantin, but I can hardly be in two places at once._ He could handle his duties as captain of the guard well enough even while he stayed with de Sardet – duty rosters were easy enough to create, and most of the administrative duties could be delegated to his lieutenants – but he felt uneasy at the thought of leaving Constantin without a personal guard.

 _Green Blood needs me more than he does, but I can’t leave him unprotected._ The roads of Teer Fradee had indeed proved to be dangerous: wild animals were rampant, with no fear of humans, and there were more bandits on the roads than he’d expected. _Not to mention the battle. If she’s going to keep playing peacemaker, this won’t be the last of war she sees._

He knew he’d have to find a personal guard for Constantin. _Someone who can keep up with him._ Kurt’s thoughts went to Reiner. _He’s stationed somewhere on the island. Maybe Manfred can help me look him up when we return to New Serene._ He thought of the story of how he’d met Reiner, of the boy’s gallantry and courage. _Constantin might like him, and that would be half the battle. Reiner’s not the sort to go drinking or whoring, either; he won’t let Constantin bribe him with a bottle. Besides, I’d like to see the kid again._ He hoped to hear how Reiner was faring, and if he liked his new assignment on the island. _It would be something if I could get him his first promotion._ Kurt thought of his own reassignment to Serene, when he’d followed Sieglinde to a new regiment and ended up the master-at-arms and personal bodyguard to Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet. _It was a good posting for me. It might be good for him, too._

Those thoughts occupied him all the way back to Vedrhais. While he drove the supply wagon that contained their tents, provisions, and extra clothing and weapons, Vasco moved ahead, scouting out the area in front of them, and de Sardet did her best to console Siora. _She really does have a good heart. She’s grieving her own mother, but she’s doing her best to make Siora feel better._

As they crossed the battlefield again, Siora slowed. “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother. How are you feeling?”

“Unwell,” Siora admitted. “I am angry, and I feel an immense void within me. I blame myself for not having been on this battlefield with her!”

“I understand,” de Sardet said. “My mother had the malichor, and yet I had to leave her behind while she was at death’s door." She spoke of the malichor, explaining to Siora what it was; Siora knew of the existence of the disease on the continent, but not the details. As de Sardet went on, Kurt could see the sympathy and understanding in Siora’s eyes. “I can’t help thinking that I should have stayed by her side, just like you.”

Siora reached over and squeezed de Sardet’s arm. “And you could not have done anything to save her either,” she reassured her. “Thank you, _on ol menawi_. Your words alleviate my sorrow.”

“Do you have anyone, a friend perhaps, who you could talk to in this trying time?”

“I usually confide in my sister, but she’s suffering too…and I think she resents me for not having been there when our mother needed me,” Siora confessed.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a little while, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” de Sardet offered.

“Thank you, _on ol menawi_. You are a good person, and I am glad you are my friend.”

Kurt saw de Sardet startle at that, and knew why. _She’s not used to having friends._ He had never thought of her as being lonely; Constantin had been her constant companion, and she had always been by his side. Yet seeing her brighten as Siora spoke, he realized that she must have been lonelier than he’d realized. _Her mother was afraid of that,_ he remembered. _She knew Constantin was not always the most supportive of friends. Maybe she’ll find a new friend in the pretty flower._

Kurt listened as de Sardet asked Siora to tell her about Bladnid; Siora related stories of her childhood, of a mother who had been as fiercely devoted to her children as she had been a fierce warrior, and of happier days before the Bridge Alliance had begun raiding their village. “We had heard the stories from other villages. Vignamri, Vighulshob…they spoke of the lions taking their people, of attacks, of _on ol menawi_ who disappeared. But those were only stories to us then. I think perhaps _Matir_ and _Patir_ knew more, but they did not want us to worry.” 

In return, Siora asked about de Sardet’s mother, and de Sardet told her stories gladly: her mother reading her a bedtime story each night before she went to sleep; sitting on her mother’s lap, trying on her jewels, and her absolute delight the day that her mother had let her keep a ring from the jewel box; her mother taking her on a picnic at Orsay Palace, the Prince d’Orsay’s countryside residence that Jeanne de Sardet had preferred over the palace in Serene.

“She loved you dearly, _on ol menawi_. As much as _Matir_ loved me and Eseld.”

Kurt listened, and thought that it was good for both of them. _Better too that the sailor isn’t listening,_ he thought; he thought that he might have grown jealous. He thought of his own scant memories of Clara, so blurry that they were more impressions of emotion than recollections of events. _The feel of her arms, soft and warm; the smell of crushed herbs; the sound of her voice._ More than anything, the feeling of safety, of knowing someone cared about him, and would protect him from the world. _I miss her,_ he thought, _but it was a long time ago._ Sometimes, they almost felt like memories that belonged to someone else.

“These ruins remind me of home,” de Sardet said. “In fact, they are like nothing I’ve seen on the island…but they look very much like the buildings of the continent.”

“This is _did e kiden nadageis_ ,” Siora replied. She spoke of the natives’ legends surrounding the ruins, and of how invaders had come from over the sea. “I have never been so close.”

“Yet this is not far from your village.”

“We do not come here,” said Siora. “The site is sacred and taboo; everyone knows where it is, but no one ever comes here. Though now that we are here, I must confess, I am very curious.”

“If you’d like to explore…” Despite their mutual grief, Kurt saw the curiosity reflected in both Siora’s eyes and de Sardet’s. “I will admit to my own curiosity about these ruins.”

 _The distraction might be good for both of them._ It was better for them to dwell on the mystery than on thoughts of Jeanne de Sardet and Queen Bladnid, or of the loss of life on the battlefield. “We can spare an hour or two, Green Blood,” said Kurt. “We can still make it back to Vedrhais with plenty of time before dark.”

That was all it took: Siora scrambled up the ruins, de Sardet following. They clambered up half-crumbled steps, peering over old walls and piles of stone, and Kurt and Vasco followed.

“I don’t see the appeal in piles of moldy old rocks,” said Vasco. “Do you?”

“Not especially,” Kurt admitted. “But if it makes Green Blood happy, I’m glad to oblige. And it might be good for the pretty twig to think about something aside from her mother.”

“What have they found?” Vasco pointed to where de Sardet was standing, Siora just behind her, both women seemingly transfixed by the sight of something.

Kurt reached them before Vasco, and saw they were both standing in front of a badly faded mural. “It’s the first time I have seen these drawings so closely,” Siora was saying. “All these colors are so beautiful. I never imagined they could create something so delicate.”

She told them more of the natives’ legends: invaders who came from across the sea, the natives’ prayers for relief, the appearance of the first guardian. “Since then, the earth answers our call for magic, and in exchange, we become _ol menawi,_ in keeping with the pacts our kings and queens once made.” Siora touched the marking on her face, then gestured to de Sardet’s.

“It is a very sad and terrible legend," said de Sardet. "I wonder who these people from the sea could have been? People from the continent, no doubt. Our malichor might well be the cursed result of a war from that age.” She stared at the mural for another long moment, then shuddered and turned away. “We ought to go now.”

Siora’s gaze lingered on the mural for another long moment before she nodded. “We should,” she agreed. “And please, do not tell Eseld that we were here. She would not approve. As a child, I often wanted to come exploring here, but _Matir_ would not let us…and Eseld would not let me sneak away. She would not be happy that we have stopped here now.”

De Sardet nodded, and they resumed their journey to Vedrhais. “I must report all this to Constantin,” she said as they walked. “He will want to know, I am sure. The idea that a nation from the continent might have landed long ago…these ruins must be centuries old.”

“I am surprised that a nation from the continent could sail so far,” Vasco said, “and yet I have never heard anything of the Nauts helping anyone sail here so long ago.”

“I thought that you discovered the island only recently,” said de Sardet. “You sold the location to the Bridge Alliance as soon as you learned of it, didn’t you? These ruins long predate the Bridge’s first settlement.”

“The Bridge scouted the island for a few years before they planted their city here, but yes, their knowledge of the island is very recent…certainly within the last twenty-five years,” said Vasco. “As you say, these ruins are centuries old.”

“I don’t know how anyone from the continent could have gotten here without the Nauts’ help,” said Kurt. “You may have some questions for Admiral Cabral, Green Blood.”

Their conversation about the ruins died away as they drew within sight of Vedrhais. As they entered the village, Kurt thought of the dead queen. _The Bridgers should’ve brought her body in already._ They’d taken the shorter path back to the village, while de Sardet had stopped for her excursion to the ruins above the battlefield, and then had opted for the longer, safer path back that they’d eschewed for the shorter route when first traveling to the battlefield.

“There are mind-shakers here,” Siora said, freezing as they entered the center of the village. She pointed to a group of missionaries, dressed in the garb of Theleme.

“I’ll be damned,” said Kurt. “Why would they be here? We’re a fair way from San Matheus.”

“And farther still from Hikmet, yet the Bridge has still come into conflict with the natives here,” de Sardet pointed out.

“Eseld will know,” said Siora. “I cannot believe that she has let them stay here. She has no more love for the mind-shakers than I do.” She looked up at the steps that led to the queen’s hut. “I must speak with her.”

She took the steps two at a time, racing to the door; all de Sardet, Kurt, and Vasco could do was follow. Siora burst through the door, coming upon Eseld, who sat alone in the hut. 

“Eseld…” Siora began. “Our mother…”

“I know,” Eseld said, and Kurt saw the grief behind the strength she was trying so hard to project. “ _Andevaurshd tir se!_ Some men delivered her remains here. They said that it was thanks to you…and the _renaigse_ legate,” she added, looking to de Sardet. “Thank you. We will be able to pay homage to our mother.”

Before de Sardet could answer, Siora interrupted. “Why are there mind-shakers here, Eseld?”

“I mean to tell you about it. They came saying that our mother had made an agreement with Theleme. But _Matir_ did not tell me about it.”

“She didn’t say anything to me, either. I do not like this, Eseld. These people want to drive us away from the land.”

“I know. But we need help after the defeat, and they say she made a promise set in stone. The spirits of our people would have to go to the light, and in exchange they’d help us against the lions.”

“This is impossible! _Matir_ would never have done such a thing! They are lying, I’m certain of it!” 

“They may be. But if there really is a promise set in stone, we cannot break it, and we will have to bury our mother according to their rituals.”

“We must verify it,” Siora retorted. “I will not stand there while these mind-shakers take our village!”

“How are we to verify it?” Eseld retorted. “Do you know how long it would take to verify such a promise? We cannot leave her body unburied for months and months.”

“We cannot let the mind-shakers bury her according to their rituals. She would have wanted to be returned to the earth. Eseld, you cannot believe that she would have agreed to let the mind-shakers bury her according to their customs. Our beliefs make us who we are. They are our soul. She would rather have died than give up our souls to the _saul lasser_.”

“They say _Matir_ made a promise set in stone.” 

“A promise set in stone?”

Siora explained the concept: the natives’ method of sealing an agreement with secret writing on stone tablets, engraved by a ‘keeper of promises’ specially trained to do so. “If we could find the tablet, we could prove what was agreed upon…but that would take days, or more. We would need to travel to the place where the stone is kept, and find the one who engraved it. The language is sacred, and only those who are capable of engraving such promises can read it.”

“And in the meantime, the mind-shakers will be demanding we bury her according to their rites,” said Eseld. “How will we fend them off? And should we?”

“Should we?”

“If _Matir_ truly did make a promise set in stone—”

“I cannot believe Matir would ever have agreed to this!” Siora burst out.

“Neither can I,” Eseld said, “but how do we prove otherwise?”

“Do you _need_ to prove otherwise?” Vasco asked. “If your mother did make a promise, she made it in exchange for an alliance with Theleme – for their help in the fight against the Bridge. But there weren’t any soldiers from Theleme at your battle.”

“It seems to me that they failed to uphold their side of the bargain. If they want to have an alliance going forward, that’s one thing, but you might argue that the queen died because they didn’t send soldiers to the battle.”

“Do the priests even know you’ve gotten her body back?” Kurt asked. “They’ve seen the Bridge bring a wagon into the village under a flag of truce, but do they know who or what was inside?”

“No,” said Eseld. “I knew they would fight with the lions, so I ordered them away when the lions came. I met with the lions’ messenger alone, and had them leave her body in Arwant’s hut.”

“Tell them that the Bridge Alliance sent a representative to discuss the exchange of prisoners of war,” de Sardet suggested. “The wagon they brought was to retrieve a prisoner as a show of good faith. You could send Captain Domeric back a single prisoner,” she suggested, “perhaps one who is badly wounded, so his own people can treat him. The others will follow as soon as I can arrange it. I had thought that perhaps we would have the queen’s funeral first, but if that must be done secretly…”

“We must bury _Matir_ quickly,” said Siora, “but there are still preparations we will have to make.”

“What are the customs for a queen? Surely there is a great deal of state.”

“Normally, there would be,” Eseld supplied. “We would inform the High King…or Glendan, since no one has seen Vinbarr in many cycles. All the _mals_ would come to pay their respects, and we would bury her with great ceremony.”

“Now, we will have to bury her secretly,” said Siora. “Eseld and I are her family; we will take her body to the place where the _mals_ of our people are returned to the earth, and perform the rituals.” 

Siora looked with concern to her twin. “There is so much to do. We must make the burial ointment and build censers to be filled with incense. She must be dressed in her burial clothing.”

“I will dress her,” said Eseld. “If you can make the ointment and the censers—”

“I will,” Siora promised. “ _On ol menawi_ , can you help me?”

“I will do my best,” de Sardet promised. 

“If you show me what one of these censers looks like, I can help with that,” Kurt offered. “They shouldn’t be hard to build.”

Over the next day, they worked on it: Siora showed them the ingredients for the ointment, and Vasco helped gather them while de Sardet and Siora mixed the ointment; meanwhile, Kurt constructed the censers, occasionally with assistance from de Sardet, who insisted he shouldn’t have to do it alone.

“It’s all right. I like this sort of work, and it isn’t hard.” But she still helped, and Siora and Vasco both joined in, though Vasco was less handy than Kurt would have expected, given his upbringing on ships.

“Thank you, _cengots_ ,” said Siora when they had finished. “I had not expected you could create such beautiful things.”

“It’s the least I can do, pretty flower. I wish I could do more.”

“You are very kind. All of you. It is not surprising for an _on ol menawi_ , but _renaigse_ …I misjudged you,” she admitted, directing her words to both Kurt and Vasco.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Kurt. “Comes with the uniform. People see it and think it’s all you’re good for.”

De Sardet dispatched a messenger to the Bridge outpost letting them know that the prisoner exchange would be delayed by a few days, but that Eseld had agreed. “How could I do otherwise? Our people will be treated like animals if we do not get them back, or they will disappear entirely.”

They met with Eseld that night, just before smuggling Bladnid’s body from the village. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Eseld asked her sister. “If we are wrong and _Matir_ made a promise set in stone—”

“Then we will be the ones who broke it, not her,” said Siora. “But she did not make this promise, I am certain. But if you do not want to do this—”

“Performing the ritual might make me feel less empty,” Eseld admitted.

“Eseld…I miss her too,” Siora confessed. “Did you go to Vasrigen?”

“No. Preparing the place is the role of the _doneigada_ ,” said Eseld. “I was afraid I would not do things properly.”

“I will do it,” Siora promised.

They smuggled Bladnid’s body out of the village that night, after the missionaries were asleep, only to find that the burial ground was infested with _tenlan_ , dangerous and aggressive animals that sprang from beneath the ground.

“We cannot let them stay,” Siora said. “They are too close to the burial cave. They will defile and devour the dead.” It was a hard fight to get rid of them all, but they managed.

They all went with her into the cave. “We must place her body on the stone altar,” said Siora. Kurt did that for her, lifting the body as carefully as he could. “We must place a censer near her head, and another near her feet.” De Sardet did the honors, and Vasco lit the incense. “Now I will apply the mortuary lotion.”

She did so, and then stepped back. “I thank you for being by my side and helping me the way you are,” Siora told them. “It…it means a lot to me!”

“Don’t mention it, Siora,” de Sardet answered quietly. She was staring at Bladnid’s body, but her eyes were distant, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her own mother.

“You have done everything you could to help me…and I am infinitely grateful for it,” Siora managed; her voice was choked, and Kurt thought that she was nearly ready to start weeping.

“Your presence by my side means a lot to me,” Siora told them, “but only my sister and I can participate in the ceremony. This is how our ritual of the dead is performed. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Everything is in place. Thank you again, _on ol menawi_.” They heard movement near the entrance, and Siora said, “My sister should be here soon. You should wait outside.”

They did. For a long while, none of them spoke; the emotion of the place weighed heavily on them. _You can feel the sorrow._

“My people’s rituals are private as well,” Vasco said finally, breaking the silence. 

“The Congregation’s are not. A princess of the Congregation would have a grand public funeral. There will be hired mourners, and a funeral feast, and my uncle will hand out alms.”

Kurt wondered if Vasco had noticed that de Sardet had slipped from generalities into specifics. “The Coin Guard doesn’t have much in the way of ritual.” _I can’t imagine anyone will miss me when I’m gone…except maybe Green Blood._ The thought startled him. _It's been a long time since I thought anyone would care when I died - though I'm not planning on it any time soon._ But he'd seen enough soldiers die in the line of duty that he knew no one ever did. _Even soldiers who go into battle always think it'll be the man next to them who doesn't come home._

“These rituals are demanding, but they help us say goodbye to those we love,” Siora sighed as she emerged. “You have been a true friend, a _carants_ , accepting to help me the way you did. Thank you. I will never forget the kindness you displayed. Conforming to our customs and staying by our side.”

De Sardet’s grief shone in her eyes as she answered. “It’s only natural, Siora. I know what it’s like to lose someone who is dear to you.”

Siora reached out; taking her hand, she squeezed it tightly. “We should go. It is time to return to the living.”

They slept for a few hours that morning before gathering the Bridge Alliance prisoners and setting off. This time, Kurt led the way, but was surprised when Siora approached him.

“ _Cengots_ ,” she said. “Can I talk to you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Go on.”

“I am worried. The actions of the _on ol menawi_ have showed me she is a true _carants_ , but I cannot help but think I have not been a _carants_ to her. She has told me much of her mother, and of how she left her behind. Was I cruel to ask for her help?” 

“No. I think this was good for her,” Kurt told her. “She knows she can’t help bury her own mother, but she helped you. Whenever word does come of her mother’s death, she’ll remember this, and it’ll make her feel better.”

“You are sure?”

“I’ve known her for a long time.”

“She was so willing to help.”

“She always is.”

“You were all willing. You are all my _caranten_ ,” Siora answered. “I will not forget that. I know we have not known each other long, but you have shown your true heart.” 


	42. Daughters of Bladnid

The next day, de Sardet and her companions went to make the exchange of prisoners; Siora stayed in her village with her sister, talking.

“They are different from any _renaigse_ I have ever met, Eseld.”

Eseld would have argued with her, she knew, but for once her sister could not argue. _They fought beside us on the battlefield. They helped me find the wounded. They helped me find_ Matir _. The_ on ol menawi _kept me from becoming as cruel as one of the lions._ The soldier she had nearly strangled had been carted back to his people, along with the other half-dozen or so men and women who had been found wounded on the field. _None of them have died of their wounds._

“I want to go with them,” Siora declared. “When they leave, I will ask the _on ol menawi_ if I can remain with her and her people.”

“Why? What good can come of it?”

“ _Matir_ wanted us to have allies.”

“Their people are already allied with the lions. You have said this. They will be no help.”

“They will not help the lions,” Siora said. “They fought with us.”

“Because the lions attacked them. And three people fighting the lions is hardly help. It is not as if they would send their soldiers.”

“We might be able to convince them,” Siora said. “Even if we cannot, we can convince them not to help the lions. But there is more.”

“What?” Eseld frowned.

“I want to know more about them. The _renaigse_ are not like us, I know that, but these _renaigse_ may be different. They may be more like us than they seem. The _on ol menawi_ leads them, but she does not seem to know what it means to be _on ol menawi_.”

“How could she not know?”

“She says her father died before her birth. It could be that he was _on ol menawi_ , but it still seems strange to me. Would not someone else in her clan tell her what it meant? Are there no other _on ol menawi_ where she comes from?”

“With how they treat the land, it is a miracle they have any _on ol menawi_ at all,” Eseld shot back.

“If her people are forgetting their bond, we might remind them. We could be their friends, Eseld. The _on ol menawi_ has already proved herself a friend of Vedrhais, and of our family. If not for her, _Matir_ ’s body would still be lying on a wooden table in the lions’ fortress. Her words convinced the _cengots_ who leads the lions to let us take her.”

They were within their own hut, but Siora looked behind her and lowered her voice before she spoke, worried about the missionaries who had come to their village. “If not for them, Matir’s body would have been buried the way the mind-shakers want, not the way she would have wanted.”

“I still do not know if we did right,” said Eseld, her brow furrowing. She bit down hard on her lip, a gesture she rarely made. “If _Matir_ truly made a promise set in stone—”

“She did not. She would never. What does your heart tell you, Eseld? Do you think _Matir_ would have given her soul to the mind-shakers, even to save our village? She would rather have died.” Siora folded her arms across her chest. “I am certain of this. We did right to bury her.”

“What will we do if the mind-shakers find out? They do not know the lions brought _Matir_ ’s body back to us. I made sure to keep them far away from the lions when they brought her. They believe that the lions only wanted to talk about our surrender, and about the exchange of prisoners.”

“It is too late for them to do anything. _Matir_ is buried.”

“What of the other rites?” There were rituals of mourning to be performed some months after the burial of a _mal_ , rites that Bladnid’s daughters would be honor-bound to carry out if at all possible.

“We will worry about that when the time comes,” said Siora. “By then, perhaps we can find out more about this promise.”

“I will send word to Caradeg,” said Eseld. “And I will send someone to Fairhistel, if I can.”

“If you do, make sure the mind-shakers do not find out.”

“I will be discreet,” Eseld promised. She tilted her head. “You want to go with the _renaigse_ , don’t you?”

“They can be our allies,” Siora said. “ _Matir_ wanted—”

“This is not about what _Matir_ wanted,” Eseld replied. “This is about what you want. You have always been curious about the _renaigse_ , though I never understood why.”

“I want to learn,” Siora confessed. “We have met the _renaigse_ , we have fought the renaigse, but we do not understand them. I want to try to understand.” She thought of the very different way of life she had glimpsed during her night in their village: the buildings of wood and stone, so closed off from nature; the room that she had been given for sleeping that had been nearly as large as her family’s hut; the soft feather mattress, so different from the grass-stuffed sleeping mats and brightly-colored woven blankets that her own people used for sleeping. _They eat with small metal spears and tridents instead of their hands; they dress strangely; they smell of foreign spices or flowers or fruit._

Yet there was something about them that fascinated Siora. _They are so different from us, yet they are still people._ The trio of _renaigse_ who had responded to her cry for help were the most different of all: an _on ol menawi_ , a _bod airni_ in the colors of the _lugeid blau_ , and a _moridigen_ , a combination that Siora had never expected to see.

They were a study in contradictions. _An_ on ol menawi _who says she has never heard of the bond. A_ bod airni _who says his loyalties are for hire, and that he would fight my people if his own ordered him to, but who gives his water to a dying boy, and tells me not to tell the_ on ol menawi _because he does not want to upset her. A_ moridigen _who tries to speak my tongue, and who seems eager to learn more, but who seems angry that he is so far from the sea, though he will not return to it._

Siora liked them all: the ink-faced man who seemed to love the sea the way that the people of Tir Fradi loved their land; the burly soldier who always looked so angry but who was capable of great kindness; the _on ol menawi_ who understood what it was to lose a mother, and who had offered Siora a sympathetic ear, even though Siora knew it must pain her to hear her speaking of her own lost mother. _They have been friends to me, as much as anyone in my village._

“These _renaigse_ are different,” Siora insisted. “I believe I can learn from them, as they can learn from me. Perhaps together we can convince the lions to stop hurting us – or we can convince the _lugeid blau_ to help us. Their _mal_ may be willing, and the _on ol menawi_ is very close to him; he is her cousin, but she says they have grown up as brother and sister.” She had not entirely liked the way he had looked at her, or the note of flirtation that had seemed to enter his tone as he had said he hoped to discuss matters over dinner, but she could not deny that he had seemed eager to help.

Eseld gave her a knowing look; her twin always knew when she wasn’t saying something. “You like these _renaigse_.”

“They helped us bury Matir.”

“Because it was the right thing to do, or because they knew it would put us in their debt?”

“They have not asked for anything in return.”

“What if they do?”

“They won’t.” Siora frowned, weighing whether or not de Sardet’s secret was hers to tell. Finally, she spoke. “The _on ol menawi_ has lost her mother too, but she could not return her to the earth.” She told her what de Sardet had said, of her mother’s prolonged and painful illness, and how she had sent her away to spare her. “She went, but she is filled with regret. She helped us bury _Matir_ because she is kind. They are all kind. You should have seen the _moridigen_ , helping the wounded on the field – he knows little about healing, and does not have magic, but he did everything the _on ol menawi_ told him to. And what the _cengots_ did for Cael—” Grief choked her momentarily; she had known the boy well, the younger brother of a girl who had been her first love. _Sorcha was taken by the lions, and now Cael is dead._

“Cael is dead,” Eseld said harshly.

“Yes, but he did not die quickly…and he did not die alone. The _cengots_ stayed with him, and made sure that he knew his name, so he would not be forgotten. It was kind,” Siora insisted. “And now, they have gone to get our people back.”

“They have helped us. Perhaps I can help them,” said Siora. “They do not speak our tongue. The _moridigen_ has a little Yecht Fradi, but not much; if they come upon our people, he will not be able to translate. I can do that for them.”

“I can teach them about us,” she insisted. “They will learn, and perhaps it will change things. It could change everything.”

“I do not see how,” Eseld said, but her frown soon turned to a resigned smile. “But I know better than to try to change your mind. You are too stubborn.”

“We are both stubborn.”

“We take after _Matir_ , in that.” Both sisters fell silent, momentarily mourning their mother’s loss, but Eseld soon spoke again. “Go on, then. Go with this _renaigse_ legate, this _on ol menawi_ who does not know what it means to be _on ol menawi_. Learn what you can from them, teach them about us, and try to help our people.” Eseld reached out to clasp her sister’s arm. “But tell me this, Siora: are you going with the _on ol menawi_ because you wish to learn from her, or are you going because you think you can run away from your grief?”

“I cannot run from my pain,” Siora said. “My sorrow would follow me to the ends of the earth. I am not going because I wish to forget _Matir_ ; I could not. Even if _Matir_ had lived, I would have asked this of her. Because she did not, I ask it of you.”

“I would not deny you. I am not _mal_ ; I could not.” Eseld pulled her into a hug. “Be careful, Siora. Learn what you will. And come home to me. You are my sister; you are all I have left. _Matir_ and _Patir_ are gone, and I do not know what I would do without you.”

“Nor I you,” said Siora. “Do not fight the lions while I am gone. Send word if there is to be a battle. I will not come too late.”

Those words hung heavily between them; she sensed some of Eseld’s resentment, and her own failure was a weight within her heart. _I could not have come faster, and yet I cannot help but blame myself for not arriving in time._ She thought it was a weight she would carry all her life, the pain of sorrow and regret.

But Eseld did not add to the weight. “I will,” she promised. “We cannot afford to fight the lions now. They would slaughter us all. Perhaps these mind-shakers can be prevailed upon to help.”

“Do not sell your soul to them, either.”

Eseld drew herself up, her gaze fierce. “I would rather die.”

Siora stared back, then nodded. “I love you, Eseld.” _Cair to:_ two very simple words, but ones she realized now she had not said nearly enough. _Not to_ Matir _, not to_ Patir _, and not to Eseld._

That she spoke them now startled her sister, but Eseld returned the phrase. “I love you too, Siora.”

They were interrupted by Bren, one of the surviving warriors. “The _on ol menawi_ has returned!” he crowed. “She brings nine of our people.”

“Nine of our people, for seven of theirs. A good trade.” Eseld looked satisfied.

“One of our people is worth a dozen of theirs.” _I would have given anything to have_ Matir _back._

“The _on ol menawi_ is not with them. She sends word that she will return tomorrow, but remained with the lions to deal with something. She said she will explain when she returns.”

Eseld shrugged. “What does it matter? Our people are home.” She turned to Siora. “Come, let us go see them.”


	43. A Corrupt Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this quest never technically triggers if you pass the Charisma check with the outpost captain (which Alexandra did), I wanted to finish it anyway; it wouldn't be like Alexandra de Sardet to hear about corruption and not do anything about it. It also features more corruption from the Coin Guard.

“I would be honored if you would allow me to continue to travel at your side, _on ol menawi_ ,” said Siora. “You have helped me find my mother’s body and return her to the earth.”

“We are both in your debt,” said Eseld. She was less enthusiastic than Siora; she clearly did not like the idea that she owed a _renaigse_ so much.

“You have proved yourself a _caranten_ of Vedrhais,” Siora added. “I hope that I can be your _carants_. If you need to speak with other clans, I can translate; I can help teach you our language and our ways.”

“Anyone would have done the same,” de Sardet replied in her usual self-effacing way. “I am glad that I was able to convince Captain Domeric to return your mother’s body to you for proper burial, but you owe me nothing.” Her eyes grew distant, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her own mother.

Siora and Eseld exchanged glances; it was clear that they knew, as well. “You also negotiated the safe return of our people,” Eseld spoke up. “The lions have taken many, but never have they given back. Neither of us could have walked into their outpost and convinced them to return our people.”

“We are grateful to you,” Siora spoke up again. “If you would allow me, I would like to remain with you.”

“I would be honored,” de Sardet replied, echoing Siora’s words. “I know we can learn a great deal from each other. If I am to be legate, I need to know as much about your people as I can…and I hope that we will be friends.”

_So do I,_ Kurt thought. _Green Blood needs more friends, especially now that she’ll be apart from Constantin so often. She needs better company than a sailor who resents her and…well, me._ Siora was close to her age, curious and courageous, and Kurt had already seen that the two got along well during their journey to Vedrhais. _The pretty flower wants to learn more about us, and Green Blood wants to learn more about her._ He looked at the two of them, exchanging tentative smiles, and once again marveled at how much alike they looked. _Green Blood looks more like a native than one of the Congregation, and it isn’t just her mark._ Her features more closely resembled the natives’ than her own relations; the fine-boned structure of her face, the arch of her brows, all of it made Siora look more like her sister than Constantin did her cousin.

_I hope they’ll get along._ During the day of planning before their departure, de Sardet had said that if they needed to stop to make camp, she would share her tent with Siora; Kurt had objected, pointing out that she knew nothing of Siora and that she would be unarmed and vulnerable while asleep. _She told me I was being paranoid; I told her it was my job to protect her._ The journey to Vedrhais had been so short that it hadn’t been an issue, and he supposed that it wouldn’t be going forward: after all, they had all slept in Siora’s home during their night in Vedrhais, and he had to admit that after the help de Sardet had given her, he didn’t think Siora would ever betray her. _She seems honorable; a good person. Like Green Blood in more ways than one._

Later that evening, Siora turned to Kurt. “The captain of the outpost,” she said. “Did you look into what the lions’ healer told you?”

Kurt nodded. “We did.” He hadn’t liked what they’d found, but it hadn’t led any higher than that: it turned out that Captain Domeric was indeed supplying soldiers from Theleme with weapons – but he was supplying the inquisitors of Theleme directly, not members of the Red Sun Regiment, and for his own financial gain, nothing more. Looking around the outpost, they had discovered documents proving it.

That had left de Sardet in a difficult situation. “We are allies of both the Bridge Alliance and Theleme. If we inform Theleme, we will undoubtedly anger the Bridge; if we say nothing, then we are complicit.”

“This man is a traitor to the Coin Guard,” Kurt said. “He swore an oath of allegiance to serve in the Green-Azure Regiment, and that means not betraying the regiment.”

“How does that work?” Vasco asked. “Is his first loyalty to other members of the Coin Guard, even in the Red Sun, or to the Bridge Alliance?”

“Our loyalty is to the nation that contracts us, first and foremost,” said Kurt. “I am paid to serve the Congregation; I owe Constantin and Green Blood my loyalty more than I would even a commander of the Red Sun or the Green-Azure.”

“At least, until your contract runs out, or until you’re reassigned.”

“That’s right,” Kurt said, though it made him uneasy to dwell on that for too long. _The Congregation has a long-standing contract with the Coin Guard. It isn’t as if they’d ever sunder it. And the Guard won’t reassign soldiers to a new regiment unless they request it; they don’t want to strain our loyalties._ He was happier in the Blue-Silver than he’d been in any other regiment where he’d served, and he couldn’t imagine leaving. _I’ve spent fifteen years protecting the two of them. That’s not quite half my life, but it’s half my life as a member of the Guard._

Kurt did what he’d always done, leaning away from his own feelings and into the persona he’d created for himself, the mercenary who only cared so long as he was paid. “So long as I’m paid, I serve the Congregation. And I’ve been paid.”

He pretended not to see Vasco’s distaste, just as he pretended not to care about his disdain. “This man is disloyal to both the Coin Guard and the regiment he serves. When the Bridge discovers what he’s doing, it’ll be a blemish on the Guard’s reputation; the dishonor of one man dishonors us all. He’s a traitor to the Green-Azure; they’d have him executed as a traitor if they learn he’s selling to their enemies.”

“I don’t know that I would want to be responsible for this man’s death,” de Sardet said, clearly troubled by the thought. “The Bridge’s methods of execution are abhorrent.”

“No nation punishes traitors lightly,” Kurt replied. “The Coin Guard would have him hanged, drawn, and quartered; Theleme would burn him at the stake.”

“We keelhaul traitors,” Vasco supplied.

“What does the Bridge Alliance do?” de Sardet asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Kurt answered. The last he’d heard, the Bridge’s favored method of execution involved putting a starving rat on a man’s stomach, with a glass bowl atop, before applying flame to the bowl. The heat of the flame would lead it to eat away from the flame, through the traitor’s guts. _If they’re still alive when it escapes, they’re buried alive._ “It would give you nightmares, Green Blood.”

“Then I can’t turn a man over to face that. What if we confronted him with the evidence and told him to resign?”

“Blackmail? I thought you disdained that,” said Vasco.

“I do. But it seems better than the other alternatives.”

“He cannot resign,” Kurt said. “Once you’ve signed your contract, your life belongs to the Guard. Commander Torsten would not accept a resignation without reason. He could request reassignment, but even that seems unlikely.”

“Reassignment to the Red Sun Regiment, perhaps?”

“He could hardly ask for that without drawing attention to himself,” said Vasco.

“And we would not have him in the Blue-Silver,” said Kurt.

“Then perhaps it would be enough for him to promise to stop selling these weapons.”

“And how would you enforce that? Will you be coming back to check up on him?” asked Vasco. “He won’t listen…unless you threaten to reveal his treason, and even that may not scare him forever.”

“If you do that, he’s likely to get violent, legate or no,” Kurt said. “If you want to go that route, Green Blood, let me talk to him. Alone.”

Her reply was immediate. “No. It’s not safe.”

In the end, she had chosen to follow the captain to his rendezvous with Theleme, confronting them directly. “This must end,” she told him.

Instead, the captain had turned to the agents of Theleme, telling them that they would have to put an end to the nosy legate and her companions if they wanted their shipment. The inquisitors had attacked, and de Sardet, Kurt, and Vasco had been forced to defend themselves. The fight had ended only when the wounded outpost captain was the last man left standing. “Roderic,” he cried out, standing over the body of one of his fallen comrades, then looked to de Sardet. “This is your fault.”

“We only wanted to talk.” De Sardet had been nearly as distressed as Captain Domeric, seeing the bodies of the dead inquisitors and outpost guards. “We only wished for you to stop selling weapons to your enemies. If I had wanted to see you put to death as a traitor, I would have handed these documents to Governor Burhan,” she said, holding up the papers they had found in the camp.

“Gr—Her Excellency always prefers to show mercy,” Kurt spoke up. “Even to men who don’t deserve it.” He glowered at Domeric. “You dishonor the Guard.”

“The Guard doesn’t give a shit about us,” Domeric retorted. “Do you think Torsten cares about you? He’ll use us all up and throw us away as soon as we’re not convenient. He sticks us out here in the wilderness to be attacked by the savages, gives me standing orders not to bury my men or hold the field long enough to retrieve our wounded in the hopes of causing a plague among the natives, and takes my reinforcements as soon as the battle’s won. My best recruits are reassigned, if they’re not killed by the savages first.”

“Why shouldn’t I take a little coin for selling weapons to Theleme? Torsten takes coin to let us fight against one another. Theleme and the Bridge pay him a premium in gold to pit Coin Guard against Coin Guard instead of risking their own, but do you think any of that money ever finds its way to the common soldier’s pockets? Why shouldn’t I do what I can to put a little money away for my retirement? Don’t tell me you have never taken a bribe or done something dishonorable for a little gold.”

“Never,” Kurt snarled. “You’re disgusting. I don’t think you know what honor is.”

“Can you eat it? Drink it? Fuck it? Will honor keep me warm in my old age?" 

"Watch your tongue. You’re in the presence of a lady." 

“A lady, a dishonorable sailor who poisons his weapons, and a naïve fool,” said Domeric. 

Vasco folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve never claimed to care about honor,” he said. “Particularly not when it comes to battle. I’ll poison my blade if it lets me live another day.”

“Or shoot a man in the back?”

“It’s the safest way, isn’t it? When you’re outnumbered and outgunned, there’s little sense in fighting fair. I’d rather live to tell the tale of how I won than be buried beneath some stone marker that says, ‘He fought with honor’…or be left to rot beneath the open sky, for that matter.”

Vasco’s jibe struck home, and Kurt followed it up with, “Your own men know you’re a traitor. Who do you think told us? How long before one of them tells Torsten, and turns you in for a promotion and a reward? I’ve too much honor to lower myself that way, but your men…well, they didn’t learn honor from you.” 

“What do you want of me?” Domeric asked bitterly.

“Stop selling weapons to Theleme. Give your ill-gotten gains away.”

“To you, no doubt?”

“No. To charity, to help any you may have harmed…but I do not want you to profit from this. Do you know why your contacts in Theleme required such weapons? They tend to prefer magic.”

“The Bridge has superior guns,” said Domeric. “Even among the priests of Theleme, not all excel at magic…and some prefer to have a backup weapon to rely upon when their magic is exhausted.”

“But why not purchase them through legitimate channels? The Bridge and Theleme are at war, but there are merchants willing to service both cities, and from what I understand from speaking with the merchants in New Serene, Governor Burhan does not stop them from exporting weaponry to other nations.”

“Because Burhan takes his cut, the way I took mine. We’re all the same…except Burhan is powerful enough that he doesn’t need anyone to look the other way.”

“But why do the inquisitors require weapons? And why go through you instead of more legitimate channels?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but from what I gathered, the inquisitors have some sort of project they don’t want their Mother Cardinal knowing about,” Domeric replied. “Something involving the natives. They need weapons to use against the natives, and they don’t want it on the books.”

“You will stop selling to them immediately. Tell them you have been discovered, tell them that your own sources have dried up…but you will stop,” de Sardet ordered him.

“And be ruined,” Domeric said bitterly. “If Torsten discovers what I’ve done, he’ll hang me for a traitor.”

“Which is still better than what Burhan would do to you,” said Kurt. “If it were up to me, I might tell the commander anyway. I hate traitors.”

Domeric looked down at the body of his soldier. “You’ve never had to choose,” he answered. “The Coin Guard or someone you love. We were planning a future together, the two of us. That money was going to be our retirement.” Anger, bitterness, and grief suffused his features. “It doesn’t matter now. I’d rather not be killed as a traitor, but I suppose it doesn’t matter if I burn the money or give it to peasants and orphans. It won’t bring him back, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing without him.”

“I am truly sorry, Captain,” de Sardet said, and Kurt marveled at her ability to feel sympathy for the man, despite everything he’d done. “It did not have to come to this.”

“You think that? What did you think, that you’d stroll into this clearing and everything would be fine? Do you think those inquisitors would’ve stood down if I’d have said the word?” Domeric turned his head and spat in the dirt. “I take back what I said: you’re not a lady, a dishonorable sailor, and a naïve fool. You’re a dishonorable sailor and two naïve fools.”

“We are letting you leave with your life,” said Kurt. “As much as I might want to argue the point.”

“Kurt…” De Sardet looked pained, staring at Domeric and the body of his guard. “Let him be.”

They had left it at that. Kurt was unhappy that they’d discovered yet another dishonorable member of the Coin Guard, his corruption seemingly unlinked to the others they’d found: de Sardet had questioned him a little further, only to discover that he’d heard nothing of Egon or the men of the silver coin, and that he knew nothing of the weapons shipments from the continent to Teer Fradee, though undoubtedly some of them had ended up diverted into the inquisitors’ hands.

“There’s rot in the Guard, Green Blood,” he said on their way back to Vedrhais. “Maybe I’ve been too much in the palace, or maybe it’s worse here on this island, but I never thought things were half as bad in Serene. I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

“It was necessary,” she replied, with no animosity in her voice. “We could not stand by and allow him to supply weapons to Theleme, especially not with what he said about them being used for some terrible end against the natives. We’ll have to try to look into that when we go to San Matheus…discreetly, of course. I wonder if the Mother Cardinal knows anything of their plot.”

“If he’s telling the truth,” said Vasco.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” de Sardet had said. “We’ll return to New Serene to inform Constantin of what’s happened and resupply, but my next duty will be to travel to San Matheus to meet the Mother Cardinal, and to pay our respects to her on Constantin’s behalf.”

That brought with it a sudden realization. _We’re going to San Matheus to talk to the Mother Cardinal, and that won’t be a day trip, or even a few days’ journey._ There would undoubtedly be a state dinner or two, and perhaps some time spent getting to know the various functionaries in the city, even before considering that de Sardet would want to investigate the connection between the weapons Domeric had sold and the inquisitors who were buying them. _And after that, it’ll be a day’s stop in New Serene again before we go off to Hikmet to do the same._

_Green Blood needs my protection – this trip has proven that too many times over – but I’m also the captain of the palace guard…Constantin’s guard. I don’t know the palace guard nearly well enough._

_I need someone with him I can trust. Someone I know._ His thoughts turned to Reiner. _His Highness might like him, and it would be a good place for him._ Kurt looked forward to introducing de Sardet to his protégé. _He’s a good kid, and Green Blood will like him…at least, I hope she’ll like him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You'd shoot a man in the back?" "It's the safest way, isn't it?" is pulled from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, but it fits Vasco's fighting philosophy so well I couldn't resist.


	44. Missing in Action

Their first morning back in New Serene, he broached the subject. “I’ve realized that we’re going to be spending a lot of time away from New Serene,” he said.

De Sardet hesitated. “If you’d rather stay at the palace—”

Kurt held up his hands. “No! Not at all. I’d rather be on the road with you than cooped up in that palace. Besides, it seems to me that our trip to Vedrhais shows you need protection right now more than Constantin. Wild beasts, Bridger soldiers, highwaymen…I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he’d sent you out alone.”

“I’m happy to go with you, and I doubt that Constantin would want me around in any case. He would much rather have me protecting you than looking over his shoulder. But I do not know the palace guards well enough to trust them, and I want him to have someone I know he can rely on for protection.”

“I recruited a young man for the Guard a few months ago. Talented. Very talented. And honorable. I’ve been tracking his progress, and I learned he was sent to the barracks at New Serene. I would like for you to meet him so that you can give me your opinion.”

“My opinion? On what?”

“Since our departure from Serene, I’ve spent almost every second at your side, but I have clear standing orders to assure the protection of Constantin…and I don’t know his guards. Not well, in any case.”

“I see. And you think this recruit might be a suitable personal guard.”

“Precisely. And your opinion has weight. So then…would you like to accompany me to meet him?”

“But of course. Let’s go.”

As they made their way to the barracks, de Sardet had to ask, “You said you recruited him? From where? I can’t imagine you had much time.”

“I met Reiner in the streets one night while searching for Constantin,” Kurt replied. “Some drunken Nauts had gotten a little too forward with one of the streetwalkers, and he’d stepped in to help. He was outnumbered four to one, and it was clear he’d never had any real training, but he carried himself well. I helped him, and once he was out of trouble, I asked him if he’d ever thought of a career in the Guard.”

Kurt spoke warmly, and more animatedly than usual. “He’s a good kid,” he said. “Eager to make something of himself, a good fighter, with real spirit.” He paused. “Though I’m not sure how he’ll react, meeting you, Green Blood. I doubt he’s ever seen a noble in his life, unless one was passing in their carriage on the streets – and even then, it’s not likely. It’s not as if nobles pass through the lower districts every day.”

“And you’re recommending him for service in the palace?” Vasco asked.

“Manners, he can learn. What matters is that he’s trustworthy, honorable, and competent. Reiner all three. More than competent, in fact; he’s got real skill with a blade.”

“More than I’ll ever have, undoubtedly,” de Sardet said good-humoredly.

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for, Green Blood – but Reiner is a natural. I hope you’ll like him.”

“Shouldn’t you hope that Constantin will like him?”

“Constantin would like whoever would let him get away with running off to the tavern unaccompanied. Reiner is more dutiful than that – and, since his aunt worked in the Coin brothel in Serene, he won’t be accompanying Constantin to the brothel here.”

“Constantin says he plans to put all that behind him,” de Sardet protested. “He has promised me that those days are over.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kurt replied. “But even if he does turn out to be the model of responsibility, he’ll still need someone to guard him. I think Reiner will do the job admirably.”

“He sounds as if he’s something of a protégé, Kurt,” Vasco said.

“He’s a good kid, and he’s going to do well for himself in the Guard. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s promoted within the year.”

De Sardet found herself feeling a twinge of jealousy. _I’ve never heard him speak of anyone else this way._ She wondered if she would like Reiner, and if he was truly worthy of all of Kurt’s praise. “He must be truly extraordinary,” she managed.

“He is, Green Blood. Not just courageous and skilled, but honorable, and loyal too. That matters more than anything, when it comes to protecting our little governor.”

She didn’t like to think about that. “Do you think there will be problems here? I’d hoped to have left all that behind on the continent.”

“I hope we have, too,” Kurt said. “But as I said, I don’t know the guards here – and you don’t know the political situation. Until we do, better safe than sorry…and even if we don’t, a day will come when we’ll return to Serene, and then Constantin will appreciate having a guard whose first loyalty is to him.”

“He already has you,” de Sardet said.

“Does he?” Siora asked. “It seems to me that Kurt is your _cengots_ , _on ol menawi_ , not your cousin’s.”

“Kurt looks after both of us. He always has,” de Sardet said.

“But he cannot always protect you both. One must come first.”

“Yes,” de Sardet agreed, “and, as my uncle’s only son and heir, Constantin has always come first.”

She spoke the words without rancor, but Kurt looked stricken. “Green Blood,” he protested.

“On the docks, you did look to the safety of the governor first,” Vasco pointed out. “De Sardet fought the monster while you made sure Constantin didn’t get himself killed.” He gave de Sardet a sardonic look. “For what it’s worth, if Kurt had let go of him, he definitely would have died. He was still half-drunk and spoiling for a fight.”

“He would have gotten you both killed,” Kurt said. “You’d have tried to protect him, and he would have been too much of a distraction.” He grimaced. “That doesn’t mean I’m glad I did it, exactly. If I had the chance to do it over again, I’d have told you both to get back and faced the beast myself.”

“It all happened too quickly,” de Sardet said. “And I told you to protect Constantin.”

“Ordered you, if you prefer,” said Vasco. “She ordered us both to protect him.” His voice was dry, and there was a quality to the words that made de Sardet wonder if that was how she’d offended him.

“I have always sought to protect my cousin,” she said, hoping to smooth things over. “As the only son and heir to the Prince d’Orsay, Constantin has always come first.”

“As if the lives of those less noble were less worth saving?” Vasco asked.

“No,” she protested. “Certainly not. But Constantin…he is my cousin, my best friend, dear to me as a brother.”

“It’s not as if she shoved you at the monster, sailor,” Kurt spoke up in her defense. “She got him out of the way so she could face it herself…which she shouldn’t have had to do, with me there.” Again, she saw the guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry for that, Green Blood. I’m your guard, charged with your protection as much as Constantin’s, and I left you to fend for yourself. I failed in my duty.”

“You are too hard on yourself, _cengots_ ,” Siora told him. “You taught her to protect herself, did you not? You should be proud. She defended herself, and that proves you are a good teacher.”

“De Sardet did take down that creature before you had much of a chance to help,” Vasco said. “None of us had much time to react.”

“Even so…” Kurt couldn’t seem to let the issue go. “It’s not a mistake I’ll make again. Here on Teer Fradee, I’m your guard, first and foremost; Constantin will have Reiner.” He snorted. “Perhaps he’ll be fonder of him than he is of me.”

“Constantin likes you,” de Sardet protested.

“Do you think so?” Kurt asked, in a tone that suggested he believed the opposite. “You should have heard him when I told him I’d be accompanying you.”

“Constantin wasn’t happy about coming here, you know that. But everything is different now.” She managed a smile, putting aside her own feelings of jealousy, and said, “This Reiner…you said you recruited him months ago, but you’ve never mentioned him. Have you recruited many men into the Coin Guard?”

“Not many, and the last was a long time ago,” said Kurt. “It’s not as if there would be many willing recruits in the palace, and that’s where I spent most of my time. But I’ve been glad to help a few young men and women find a home in the Guard, when I could. It’s a good place for an honorable young man or woman who’s good with a sword.”

“A home?” Vasco asked. “I don’t think I’d have thought of a ten-year contract of service for coin as being much of a home. The Nauts are a family, and you join for life…whereas the Coin Guard, as I understand it, takes you for a ten-year term, pays you your coin, and spits you back out…if you survive, that is.”

“The Coin Guard is the only family I’ve ever known,” Kurt replied. “It’s a brotherhood as much as the Nauts; we’re all brothers and sisters-in-arms. Fighting alongside someone will make you family, if you do it often enough…and those of us who believe in the Guard stay for more than one term. There are plenty who make their lives in the guild, the same way the Nauts do…except we’re free to leave at the end of our term. I’ve never heard of anyone leaving the Nauts.”

“Maybe that’s because no Naut would want to leave.”

“Or maybe it’s because fitting into life ashore would be too hard, especially with those tattoos.” Kurt had clearly taken offense to Vasco’s description of the Coin Guard. “It’s a good life for those it suits. Offering your sword for a good cause, living a life where honor, duty, and loyalty are paramount, surrounded by men and women who feel the same way – yes, I’d say it’s a good life, especially for a boy like Reiner, looking for an honorable cause to serve…and for a way to earn enough coin to support his brothers and sisters. There aren’t many honorable ways for a poor orphan to make a living on the streets of Serene nowadays.”

“Reiner’s a good kid. In the Coin Guard, he’ll have chance to make something of himself. The Guard doesn’t care about birth or wealth; he’ll be able to become an officer, see the world, do great things.”

Vasco looked at him, and de Sardet could almost see the Naut captain reassessing him. “I’ve been asking myself why everyone calls you captain, seeing as you have no ship. But now I’m beginning to understand.” 

“I thought you a lone wolf, with only our good friend in your pack,” Siora agreed. “But I was mistaken.”

“I am full of surprises, pretty she-wolf,” Kurt replied. “And, sailor, I’m glad to have poured some oil in your lantern.”

They reached the barracks, where Kurt found Manfred, the quartermaster. When they had arrived on Teer Fradee, de Sardet had been surprised to discover that Kurt and the quartermaster were friends; they had known each other during Kurt’s time in the Red Sun Regiment, and had transferred into the Blue-Silver together nearly fifteen years ago, both following Sieglinde, who’d taken a promotion and wanted officers she could trust.

It was a reminder that Kurt had a life beyond being master-at-arms in the palace at Serene, and she saw a side of him that she’d rarely seen in the palace, relaxed and friendly in a way he wasn’t while on duty among the nobility. _A side of him I only saw once we boarded Captain Vasco’s ship._ He had become more relaxed there, more open, and she found herself hoping that he would one day be as friendly with her as he was with Manfred, without worrying about his duties or their positions.

Today, he greeted Manfred cheerfully. “I’m looking for one of my recruits! Goes by the name of Reiner. I wanted Her Excellency to meet him.”

But instead of responding with equal cheer, the color drained from Manfred’s face. “Reiner…I’m sorry, Kurt. I thought you’d been informed.”

“Informed? About what?”

“He is dead. He was found in the port harbor, drowned, day before yesterday. I was told he had too much to drink and fell in. I’m sorry, Kurt. The young men have too much to drink when they’re on leave.”

All Kurt’s cheer vanished, replaced by denial, grief, and anger. “That’s bollocks,” he insisted. “That lad isn’t the sort to sully himself with drink. I don’t believe it.”

“People change. When they’re far from home, the lads have little else to do.”

“ _I still don’t believe it!_ ” Kurt’s voice shook with grief.

“Listen, you might as well go ask the doctor down in the morgue. I might have misunderstood what was reported to me,” Manfred conceded, though de Sardet could tell he didn’t genuinely believe it. “Those doctors use such long words for simple things.”

_This Reiner…he truly meant a great deal to him,_ she realized. “Excellent idea,” she said. “At least now you’ll see it for yourself.”

“My condolences, Kurt. I’m truly sorry. I know the pain of losing a crew member,” said Vasco as they descended the stairs to the basement of the barracks. 

“ _Andevourshd tir e,_ ” Siora added. “That means, ‘May the earth welcome him.’”

“Thank you,” Kurt said, nodding to both of them, but his voice was still rough, and de Sardet could see how upset he was; he looked away, blinking furiously, and she saw his throat working as he swallowed down his grief. 

They found the doctor of the Bridge Alliance behind a desk, writing a report, but he looked up when he heard approaching footsteps. De Sardet took the initiative, questioning him about how Reiner had died and where he had been found. He was reluctant to allow them access to Reiner’s body, and Kurt’s protests of, “I’m a soldier, doc. I’ve seen a number of men in pieces. Let me see the young lad,” availed him nothing; the man attempted to deny him permission.

De Sardet was glad to be able to step in to do what she could. “I have yet to present myself,” she said, fixing him with her most imperious gaze. “I am Lady de Sardet, legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee, and as the title infers, I have the power to inspect this barracks and all it contains.”

It was enough: the man apologized profusely and let them pass.

A single body was laid out on the central table. As de Sardet approached, she was startled to see how young he looked. _Fifteen or sixteen at most, I’d think._ She realized then that she’d been picturing someone closer to her own age. He was clean-shaven, with dark brown hair cut in the same style as Kurt’s, short on the sides and longer on top, and seemed very small in death: he was stocky, but shorter than average, perhaps Siora’s height.

“He’s just a boy,” she said, stunned. _His face is still locked in an expression of pain_. “Kurt, is this your recruit?”

“Yes,” Kurt said softly, sounding pained. “That’s my Reiner. Poor kid. I should have left him with his family, where he was.” Guilt clouded his features as he stared down at the body.

“If you want to learn more, we’ll have to examine the body,” she said, as gently as she could. “Is that all right?”

“He’s not the first young man I’ve seen with the lights gone from his eyes. Go on.”

“I’m no doctor, but this boy doesn’t seem to have drowned at all. It looks like he’s been beaten. It’s suspicious.”

“The boy I knew would never have drunk himself senseless to the point where he’d fall into the bay, I’m telling you!” 

“I believe you, Kurt.” She bit her lip, looking down at Reiner’s body. “I’ll need to look at his body.”

Kurt nodded, looking pained. “I can undress him.”

To de Sardet’s surprise, Siora stepped in. “Let me do this, _cengots_. It is the custom of my people to undress and anoint the body with certain ointments before performing our rituals.”

Kurt nodded again. Retreating to a corner of the room, he closed his eyes, silently grieving.

With de Sardet’s help, Siora got Reiner’s armor off, though they left him his trousers; as soon as they’d stripped him of his doublet, de Sardet was able to see that it wasn’t drowning that had killed him: he was covered in bruises and lacerations, signs of a vicious beating. _Moreover, there are older wounds here, ones that are only half-healed. It wasn’t the first time he was beaten._ “Kurt…” she began uncertainly as Siora began to dress the body once more.

“Green Blood,” he answered, his voice rough with anger as well as grief. When she looked up, she saw him clutching a piece of parchment in one hand. “Read this.”

She did. “Written by the doctor himself,” she said. The note was written in coldly clinical terms, but corroborated her own findings. “Kurt…this matches what I see. This boy didn’t drown, he was beaten to death.”

“Beaten to death?” Kurt looked as if she’d backhanded him. “Who would do something like that to a kid?”

“I have no idea, but some of these wounds are older.”

Kurt shook his head. “Training can be trying sometimes, but this…I’ve never seen the likes. Not…” He stopped abruptly. “And this Bridger doctor is lying about it…why?”

“I don’t know. Let’s have a word with the doctor. He’s lying and must know more.”

De Sardet confronted the man, holding the parchment in hand. The doctor wilted almost immediately, revealing that he had been threatened by a group of soldiers without regimental colors or emblems of rank.

“We have a situation, Manfred. Reiner didn’t drown. The doctor falsified his report. He was threatened and feared for his life.”

“You have to be pulling me leg! Who bullied the crow-face?”

“Lieutenants that he didn’t recognize, alas, and who wore no regimental emblems,” de Sardet supplied.

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “Which regiment was Reiner assigned to? I would like to have a word with his commanding officer.”

“Let me have a look at the register. My memory isn’t what it once was.” Manfred went to his desk, where he pulled out an enormous leather-bound book. Flipping through it, he found the page he was looking for, running a finger down one column until it came to a sudden halt. “Stab my heart with a rusty blade. His name’s been crossed out! Why, if I catch the bastard that did that—”

“What mess was the boy into, Manfred? What could this be about?”

“Your lad was in the sixth, or maybe the eleventh…before being reassigned to who-knows-where.”

“Just like that? You out of everyone have to know where the recruits are assigned.”

“Not of late. This isn’t the first lad who’s been reassigned all of a sudden, at the drop of a hat. Each time I start complaining about it, I’m told they changed regiments, and it’s not my concern.”

Kurt grimaced. “Something truly bizarre is going on here. I don’t like this at all.”

“Let’s try and discover which company he was stationed at before this mysterious reassignment,” de Sardet suggested.

“Is there anything else?” Manfred asked, closing up his book. 

“No, thank you,” de Sardet said.

Kurt nodded. “I need to get to the bottom of this mystery, Green Blood. I don’t like being taken for a fool.”

“Even if the lieutenants weren’t stationed at these barracks, someone must know where Reiner was assigned.”

“We should also go check the tavern,” de Sardet suggested. “Men on leave will perhaps have looser lips than those within the walls.”

It proved to be the case: their investigations led them to a nervous-looking young recruit on leave in the tavern. _He looks as young as Reiner,_ de Sardet couldn’t help thinking, remembering the dark-haired boy on the medical examiner’s slab. “Good day, soldier,” said de Sardet.

“Good day, my lady—”

“De Sardet,” she supplied. “Legate of the Congregation on Teer Fradee.”

“Captain Kurt,” Kurt supplied.

“Oh! I—excuse me, Excellency, I didn’t know. Captain, I – I truly am sorry. I’m at your service, my lady. Excellency.”

De Sardet suppressed a smile. “You don’t quite look like you’ve got the hang of all this. How long have you been in?”

“I – Is it that obvious?” The boy wilted.

“It’s quite normal for a new recruit,” Kurt reassured him.

“I joined up four months ago, but at the beginning, we were on board ship, you see?” He lowered his voice. “I don’t know if that really counts. I started exercises when we got to New Serene, but I’m making progress, they say.”

“And do you like it here?”

The boy brightened. “I sure do,” he said. “That’s why I joined the Guard, to leave the continent…know what I mean?”

“I do,” said De Sardet, thinking of how Kurt had told her Reiner had hoped to bring his family to Teer Fradee. _Everyone believes this an island of miracles._

“Anything else?”

“Since you know who we are, present yourself, soldier!”

“Ah! Yes, sir!” The boy squared his shoulders, standing at attention, and spouted off, “Recruit Second-Class Alric, Blue-Silver Regiment, Eleventh Company, at your service! Anything else?”

“Yes,” de Sardet said. The soldiers of the eighth and sixth regiments had already assured her they had never heard of Reiner; that left only the eleventh. _If no one in the eleventh has heard of him, we’ll have greater problems still._ “Do you know a recruit going by the name of Reiner?”

Alric’s change in attitude was immediate: he looked up, eyes wide and fearful, his mouth dropping open. “Reiner? Aye, it’s just—Excellency, _please_ —”

“The boy is terrified now that he knows who we are,” Kurt told her in a low voice. “So long as he’s in that state, he’ll say nothing of worth.” He nodded to the bar. “You should bring him a bottle to calm his nerves.”

De Sardet nodded to Alric. “That’ll be all, soldier. Thank you.”

Alric sagged with relief. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

It didn’t take her long to purchase a bottle of the finest brandy, returning to Alric with it. “Here,” she told him. “You seem tired and a little on edge. A drink would do you some good.”

Alric looked at her, then at the bottle, then back at her in disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe that the legate of the Congregation was purchasing him a drink. “It’s just…I don’t know if I’m allowed…”

“You’re on leave, or you wouldn’t be at the tavern. And why not?” Kurt asked, entirely friendly.

“Yes, but this is Her Excellency’s bottle. I don’t know if I can…”

“Drink, I tell you!” An edge cut through Kurt’s voice, and suddenly he sounded as if he was giving orders.

Alric nearly slopped part of the bottle down his front, but obeyed. Soon enough, his trembling stopped, and de Sardet could tell he was more than a little drunk. “Well, then,” she said. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about Reiner?”

“I didn’t – I didn’t serve with him, well, you know, not really…we just crossed paths,” Alric offered. “He was leaving the eleventh when I joined. Everyone said he was good, strong, and…uh, followed orders…and then…poof! Lieutenant got this order and he wasn’t happy…and I mean, really quite unhappy…and then Reiner, uh…he was gone…we never saw him again. We asked where he’d been sent, but the lieutenant didn’t want to tell us. Said it was none of our business. But you! He won’t be able to say no to you! You should go and offer him a drink too.”

“Where can we find your lieutenant?”

“At the barracks?”

“And watch yourself as you’re leaving. We wouldn’t want you to fall into the bay,” de Sardet said as they left, Alric still offering his profuse thanks.

They found the lieutenant. The Eleventh Regiment was responsible for policing the roads of Teer Fradee, and the lieutenant instructor was responsible for all new recruits. “We are concerned about the death of a young recruit named Reiner,” de Sardet began, but Kurt interrupted, seething with anger.

“Let’s be perfectly straight,” he said. “We know that Reiner belonged to your company, and as the acting lieutenant instructor, you certainly had him under your command. So just stop with the lies. We’ve lost enough time here!”

“You know what they say,” the man wheedled. “Guard business is well-guarded…”

“…and concerns only the Guard,” Kurt finished. “Now unless you’ve lost your eyesight, you’ve a captain in front of you!”

“I…I know. But this story is dangerous, Captain!”

“If you have so much as an ounce of respect for the boy, speak to us!” de Sardet broke in. “Don’t you believe he deserves justice?”

“Yes! Of course! But you have no idea what’s going on here.” The man reacted much as Alric had, trembling as he glanced around. He darted another glance over his shoulder as he promised to meet them after dark.

“Your crew is sick with the scurvy, Kurt, and they’re dying of fear,” Vasco offered as they headed away.

Kurt grimaced. “I must agree, sailor, and I don’t like it one bit.”

“That man was shaking and looking over his shoulder as if he thought a predator had caught his scent,” Siora agreed. “Whatever could terrify your warriors to jitters so?”

“I don’t know, but I will find out, Siora.”

That night, the lieutenant told them of his own investigation: his discovery that the best recruits were being transferred to some secret regiment, and that the regiment protected its secrets with diligence. “You might ask the lieutenant of the sixth,” he suggested.

They found the lieutenant in the barracks, where de Sardet managed to talk him into revealing what he knew. What they discovered shocked her: the regiment was taking young promising recruits and training them for illegal activities, such as a lightning strike on a Bridge Alliance caravan.

“This story is making me sick. Poor Reiner. If I’d have known, I’d never have recruited him.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt.”

“This isn’t your doing. But these filthy phantoms, or whatever they are, are going to have to settle the debt.”

De Sardet hesitated. “You do realize that your own commander is certainly involved in this on some level,” she said. “Outright clandestine operations could not have taken place without his approval.”

“That he’s aware of the existence of such a regiment there is no doubt,” Kurt answered. “That he approves of what they’re doing…well, it wouldn’t be the first head that didn’t know what his hands were up to.”

“What do you wish to do now?”

“I’m going to find the location of this camp. I have a few friends who will certainly help us. And when I know where to smoke out these bastards, I’ll go and have a few fiery words. If you were of a mind to accompany me, two of us would not be too many to make sure they settle their debts.”

De Sardet nodded. “Let me know when you discover where they are to be found. You can count on me.” 

“And me, as well,” Siora said.

Vasco nodded. “You helped Legate de Sardet find my cabin boy and return him to me; I wish I could have helped reunite you with your crewman, but as I cannot, I’ll be glad to do anything I can to help you get justice for him.” He grimaced. “Too often, people like Jonas or Reiner get overlooked. We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen here.”

“What will happen to him now?” asked Siora. “Will your people return him to the earth here, or will they take him to your own lands?”

“That’s an expense his family could never afford,” said Kurt. “Only nobles have their bones shipped back across the sea to their homeland…and in Serene, he’d have been burned on a pyre, his ashes scattered or poured in the sea. Here, he’ll be buried in the ground; the Coin Guard has a cemetery beyond the city’s eastern gate.” Again, grief twisted his features. “I’ll send his personal effects back to his family in Serene, along with his death payment and whatever salary he’d kept here. I’ll have to send a letter. Conrad can read it to his family.” Grief turned to anger. “Normally, that would be the responsibility of his commanding officer, but seeing as no one here will admit who that was—”

“I’m sure you would have written his family anyway,” de Sardet said, hoping to defuse his anger.

It worked. “I would have,” Kurt agreed. “I would have gone to visit them myself, if I could. I wish I could tell them more.”

“Perhaps you should wait to send the letter until we know more about this phantom regiment.”

“No. His family deserves to know. I’ll send a letter now, letting them know that he died…though I won’t give them the specifics. They don’t need to know the bloody details. When we find the men who killed him, I’ll write again, but for now I won’t add to their pain.” He blinked fiercely; again, his eyes looked wet. “They should remember him the way he was when he left Serene. I don’t want them picturing him like that, battered and bloody, his skull cracked.”

De Sardet remembered the bruises that had marred Reiner’s skin, half-healed injuries beneath newer ones, the discoloration and swelling that had been so apparent even after the medical examiner had cleaned the body. “No,” she agreed. “There’s no need for that.”

“The Coin Guard will be responsible for burying him, but I’d like to be there when they do,” Kurt said. “If it’s not too much trouble—”

“It’s no trouble at all, Kurt. Do you think I’ll need to speak with that doctor to get them to release the body?”

“I hope not. It should be a formality now.” He paused, looking uncertain. “It won’t interfere with any of your duties.”

“Even if it did, it wouldn’t matter,” she replied. “You cared for Reiner, and we’ll take the time to see that he’s properly buried. You’re my friend, Kurt; it would be cruel of me to do otherwise. I hope you don’t think so poorly of me as that.”

“Of course not. You’re a good person, Green Blood; I’ve always known that.”


	45. Grief

De Sardet kept her word. They remained in New Serene for several days more, even though Kurt knew that she had her diplomatic duties to attend to; she was due to depart for San Matheus, then Hikmet, to formally present herself to each governor. Kurt knew that Vasco was hoping to pursue another matter while there: he had heard rumors that his brother, Bastien d’Arcy, was on the island, and might be in Hikmet.

Even so, Vasco made no arguments about wanting to leave the city early, and did not complain when they delayed long enough to see Reiner buried. “Bastien will still be on this island in a week,” he told Kurt. “If it was one of my crew, I’d want to make sure they were properly honored.”

Siora was even more sympathetic. “You comforted me when we found _Matir_. I know this boy was not your son, but I also know you cared for him very much.”

But it was de Sardet’s sympathy that meant most to him. Each night after dinner, she made sure to sit with him. “If you want to speak of him, I’m here,” she said. “If you don’t…anything I can do for you, I will. All you need do is ask.”

She meant it. “Thank you, Green Blood.” That first night, it had hurt too much for him to speak; he sat by the fire, thinking of the night he’d met Reiner in Serene, and how he’d looked lying on that slab, his bones broken, his skull crushed.

He thought of Reiner’s family, safe in Serene, with all their hopes for him. _Did he find someone to write a letter home for him? Did they know how he was faring here? Was he happy during his time in the eleventh?_ Alric hadn’t known him, but said that everyone had spoken highly of him; that didn’t surprise Kurt. _I always knew he would make me proud._ Kurt stared into the fire that night for a long time, trying not to cry. _I was already proud of him, though I don't think I ever told him so. I should have told him_. _He would have made a fine officer. He would have grown into a fine man._

The next night, he did speak. “I wish you could have known him,” he told de Sardet. “I wish I could have introduced the two of you. I wanted to try to accustom him to being around nobility before taking him to the palace. He’d only ever been a city guard in Serene; he was more used to being on patrol near the docks than the palace.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?” de Sardet suggested gently, and he did.

“I can’t say I knew him well,” Kurt admitted. “Not half as well as I know you, Green Blood. But I felt as if I did, because he reminded me so much of myself at that age.”

He told her the stories he knew of Reiner: his parents’ deaths, the way he’d struggled to help his family, his early dreams of joining the Nauts. “He taught himself to swim in the canals. He’d go diving there, dredging the bottom for valuables.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t die of infection,” Vasco volunteered. “Those canals are hardly clean.”

“That’s the reason he made out so well. Not many were willing to risk swimming in them, not even for the promise of silver. He had a few nasty infections from it; after one, his aunt made him stop. She took care of him and his siblings.” He spoke of finding Reiner. “I should have introduced him to Constantin then, perhaps. Maybe he’d have taken a shine to him.”

“Constantin would have loved that story. A young man, noble of heart, defending a woman from a gang of drunken ruffians.”

“Those Nauts were a disgrace to our people. I hate to think of any sailors acting that way on shore leave. If they’d been mine, they would have been punished.”

“Did you ever defend anyone that way, Kurt?” Siora wanted to know.

“By the time I was fifteen, I was serving in the city guard of Durrandon, the largest port in Brystanor.” Kurt tapped at the scar on his chin. “I got this from a drunk who came after me with a broken bottle.” Rolling down his sleeve, he showed a very faded scar on his forearm. “That one was from trying to take on a gang of bandits who were trying to rob a merchant. I was outnumbered four to one, but I got the drop on them. Even so, I learned then that if you get into a knife fight, best expect to get cut. I’ve another scar on my chest from that fight, and I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Brystanor? I didn’t realize the Coin Guard had a contract with them.”

“The Congregation of Merchants, Theleme, and the Bridge Alliance are our largest clients, but that doesn’t mean they’re the only ones. Most of the nations on the continent use our services.” Again, grief clawed at his heart, and he settled back into his chair. “Reiner would have done better stationed in one of them.”

“Would they have done that?” Siora wanted to know. “Taken him far from his home, and made him to fight against those who were his people.”

“Normally? No. Most recruits serve in the same country where they were recruited. I’ve moved around far more than most.”

“Because you were recruited so young?” de Sardet wanted to know.

“And because I’d had more training than most, yes. It was an experiment in the Guard, seeing if they could train an elite cadre of officers from a group of children. Many of us moved from regiment to regiment, depending on where we were needed most.” _Or if we had reason to want to leave._ He’d fled from the Green-Azure Regiment to the Red Sun in hopes of a new start, and from the Red Sun to the Blue-Silver for much the same reason. “I’ve served in four regiments: the Bronze Shield, the Azure-Green, the Red Sun, and the Blue-Silver.”

“Where did you come from?” de Sardet wanted to know. “Do you know?”

“I was born in the Congregation, and my wet nurse brought me up in an army camp on the Congregation’s borders,” Kurt answered.

“Do you know your parents’ village?” Siora wanted to know. “Your clan?”

“My mother was originally from the Congregation – from Serene, to be exact,” said Kurt. “My father was from a city in Theleme called Lacillion.”

“It’s their largest port,” Vasco volunteered. “Theleme has never been a friendly nation for the Nauts, but Lacillion is their best port. The inquisitors like to say the city is full of heretics.”

Kurt had sometimes wondered if his father had been one; the Coin Guard cared far less about religion than the priests of Theleme, and it seemed to him that it might have been a valid reason for joining up. It wasn’t a thought he had often; after all, his parents had cared nothing for him, so he had little reason to care about them. _Even if he was a heretic, he died fighting for Theleme._ “I don’t know how or where they met, only that my mother transferred from the Blue-Silver Regiment to the Red Sun to be with him. They left me behind with a wet-nurse, and were killed in battle before I came of age.” Even after Clara had given him over to the Coin Guard, neither had ever showed any interest in him; he had no memories of either of his parents, and had never seen either of them. “All I know of them, I know from the copies of their service records I saw when I turned fifteen. As far as I’m concerned, my clan is the Coin Guard.”

“That seems sad,” Siora said. “What land do you call your home?”

“I’ve never had a home,” Kurt answered.

“How can that be?”

“It’s easy enough, pretty flower. To have a home, you have to have someone who cares about you waiting there, or you have to have enough good memories about the place to make it a home. I’ve never had either.”

“To us, your home is the land you are bonded to,” said Siora.

“I’ve never stayed in any land long enough to form a bond,” Kurt answered. “Though I’d be curious to know what you think of someone like the sailor, who doesn’t stay on land at all.”

“Perhaps you can bond with the sea, as well as the land,” Siora mused. 

“We do have our island,” Vasco offered. “Though I’ve never thought of it as home. Truth be told, it’s been years since I’ve gone back. It’s where we raise our children, but it’s not a place I have any fond memories of. I certainly don’t have any warm memories of any of my instructors." Vasco sighed, and a look of longing softened his features. “I love the sea. My home is my ship, my family my crew.”

Siora fixed her gaze on de Sardet’s mark. “You must share a bond to your land. Did you not feel your connection? Or did your parents never speak of theirs?”

“My father died before I was born, but I’ve told you, neither of my parents ever had such a bond,” de Sardet answered. “Nor have I ever bonded myself to any land. My home is in Serene, but only because my mother is there.”

She looked sad, then, and Kurt wished he could say something to cheer her. “At least you’ve brought Constantin with you,” he said. “That’s a little reminder of home, isn’t it?” 

De Sardet looked to him, and the faintest hint of a smile touched her lips as she realized what he was trying to do. “Yes,” she answered, “and so are you. I’m glad you came with us.”

“You said that home is a place where you have friends to welcome you,” said de Sardet. “If that’s the case, then you’ll always have a place with me, no matter where we are.” 

Kurt looked up in surprise. At another time, he might have tried to play it off with a quip, asking if she still planned to pay him, or if he would still be expected to serve as her guard when he was old and weak. Tonight, worn down by grief and touched by her words, he replied sincerely. “Thank you, Green Blood.”

 _A home,_ he thought. _With you. That would be too good to be true._ The thought startled him, and he shook his head, trying to dismiss it. _She’s been such a good friend, you’re grateful, that’s all. She’s so understanding, so gracious…I’ve never known anyone who’s been so easy to confide in._ He’d had friends, of course, comrades-in-arms who’d shared the bonds of brotherhood forged by service: Jurgen, Gunter, Karl, and the others in the ghost camp; Sieglinde and Manfred, who he’d served with in two regiments, along with Hildegard and Jorg, both dead; even Inge, who he’d loved, and thought he could trust. _But there’s never been anyone like Green Blood. Gentle, kind, always so caring…and so lovely._

He pushed the thought away. _It’s friendship,_ he told himself, _that’s all…and you’re lucky enough to have that. It’s more than you deserve._ He was, after all, still a Coin Guard, and Alexandra de Sardet was a noblewoman, niece of the Prince d’Orsay and legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee. _She’s a good person; she doesn’t want you to be alone. She’s a true friend._ Friendship was more than he could ever have hoped for in Serene; there, he had been her guard and master-at-arms, and there had always been a certain amount of distance between them.

Teer Fradee had worn that distance away. _The weeks we’ve spent together here, the time we’ve spent talking at the fireside or setting up camp, all the battles we’ve fought together…and now, finding out about Reiner._ In Serene, he had always been her guard, stoic and distant; here, he had let his guard down. When he’d learned what had happened to Reiner, he’d been unable to hide his grief; it was the first time he could remember that he’d showed any kind of vulnerability, not only to one of his former charges, but to anyone. _Not that there’s been anyone in Serene I could have confided in. Not for years,_ he thought. Sieglinde had been a close friend, but she had transferred to Teer Fradee when Lady de Morange had taken the governor’s position, five years ago. _It wasn’t as if I saw her often in any case._ Kurt’s position as master-at-arms meant that he’d rarely seen any of his comrades.

 _I don’t see much of them now, either, but it doesn’t bother me._ The company of Alexandra de Sardet, Vasco, and Siora was enough for him. _They are my comrades-in-arms now._ De Sardet was truly his friend, and he’d quickly warmed to Siora. _The pretty twig understands honor and duty, and she’s dedicated to her people._ Even Vasco was growing on him; at first, he’d been prickly toward the sailor because he’d seemed so unhappy with de Sardet, but as Vasco’s attitude toward de Sardet had thawed, so had Kurt’s attitude toward him. _He looked at her and saw a noble, not her…though how he bedded Constantin while resenting her, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I don’t understand how he could resent her at all._ Kurt wasn’t fond of nobility in general, but Alexandra de Sardet was nothing like her peers. _Most of them ignore their guards entirely. If they don’t, then they treat us like lackeys who don’t have any thoughts or feelings of our own. To them, we’ve signed a contract and been paid our coin, so we belong to them._

De Sardet had never been like that. _She’s always been kind, always thoughtful._ He thought that, mentally, she’d grouped him with Sir de Courcillon, her tutor: a nobleman, though of lesser standing than either of his charges. He remembered her asking about his feelings before their departure. _Most nobles wouldn’t have considered it._ Moreover, Alexandra de Sardet had often behaved more like a member of the Coin Guard than a proper noblewoman: worrying about defending her cousin, placing his safety first, acting with courage and intelligence. _Too many of those nobles don’t know the meaning of honor; they’d betray their own parents if it meant gaining power._ In contrast, Alexandra de Sardet had always avoided palace intrigues, even if it meant remaining distant from many of her fellow nobles; she had done her duty and put her own honor first.

_She’s always been extraordinary…though I didn’t realize how much until now. What other noble would have put off their own duties to look into Reiner’s death? Who else would have helped me discover that wretch of a doctor was falsifying his reports? Who could have talked those captains into revealing the truth? Who else would accompany me to his grave to make sure he’s properly buried? She's been a true friend...as true as any I've ever had in my life._


	46. A Soldier's Funeral

The next day, he tried to finish his letter to Reiner’s family, but the words wouldn’t come. _How do I tell Ingrid? How do I tell his brother and sisters? I wish I had answers to give them. I wish I had justice for them._

Troubled, he took a break to work with his hands. The Coin Guard had taught him the rudiments of several trades: smithing, carpentry, even a little masonry. He was no master smith, but knew the basics of repairing armor and weaponry, and even of upgrading it a little; he could shoe a horse, fix a broken wagon wheel, or build fortifications without difficulty.

Kurt had always liked working with his hands; he had a talent for it, and he found it relaxing. Woodworking was his favorite; he enjoyed building furniture, whittling small sculptures, or carving useful things. When he’d served in Theleme, he’d made quite a small side income from carving gaming boards for his comrades; squares could be burned black to make a board of alternating tiles, and he’d crafted boards for chess, checkers, darts, backgammon, and more. He’d even fashioned furniture for his companions, chairs and tables for their tents.

Now, he turned his attention back to a large piece of wood that he had begun working on shortly after he’d learned of Reiner’s death. _I don’t have the talent or the time to make anything from stone._

“Kurt?” It was de Sardet. “I’ve had word from Manfred. He wanted you to know that Reiner’s burial will take place at midday tomorrow. I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you, Green Blood,” he said.

She paused, looking at his work. “Is that for Reiner?”

He nodded. “A grave marker. The Guard might give him a cheap wooden placard, if he’s lucky, with his name and rank. Given how quiet they’ve kept this, they might not even give him that. They’d record the place where he’s buried, so they could tell his family if they came asking, but…he deserves better.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said. Kurt had carved Reiner’s name and rank, his dates of birth and death, and an inscription of “beloved friend, son, brother, and nephew,” into the wood, and was now working on carving out a border. “I knew you were skilled with repairing things, but…this is truly lovely, Kurt.”

“I’ve always liked woodworking. It can take your mind off things. Before a battle, during a siege…sometimes, if there’s nothing to do but wait, it makes for a good distraction.” Kurt looked down at Reiner’s marker. “The poor kid. He deserved better. This is the least I can do for him. I know it won’t last, the wood will rot, but I’ll seal it as best I can and hope it lasts until I can find a stonemason in town who can carve something permanent before it does. I’d thought to send what coin I could back to his family, but I think they’d want him to have something to mark his grave. I have the winnings from your fight protecting that hunter, and that should be enough to give him a proper marker and to make sure his family’s taken care of.”

“Don’t worry about the expense,” de Sardet said. “I’ll make sure it’s paid for.” Anticipating Kurt’s objections, she added, “If it will make you feel better, I won’t even use my own money. Reiner died in service to the Congregation; Constantin can cover the expense from the city funds, along with whatever you wish to give to his family.”

“I was responsible for the lad,” Kurt answered. “I’ll send his family the money myself. The Guard offers a death benefit, but Reiner hasn’t been in for very long, and it won’t be nearly enough.”

It was to her credit that she didn’t try to argue with him. “Then the Congregation will match whatever you wish to give him,” said de Sardet, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You said he had siblings; I’m sure they’ll appreciate the money.”

“They’d rather have had their brother.”

“I know. No amount of money could ever be enough to replace a loved one,” she said, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her mother. “In the meantime, this will be a beautiful memorial.” That night, she insisted on showing it to both Vasco and Siora, practically demanding they admire it.

“I did not know you were capable of creating such beautiful works,” said Siora. “You are a warrior, with great skill at killing, but to have such skill at creating things as well…I did not know you had such talent.”

“I knew you would’ve made a fine ship’s carpenter,” Vasco added, “but that took more skill than repairing a few bunks or building a table. That is artistry.”

“Thank you.” He looked down at the marker, wishing he had more skill. “Reiner deserved better than this, but it’s the best I can do.”

“You honor your _carants_ ,” Siora said.

He heard the sincerity in her tone, and remembered her own grief at her mother’s passing. “Thank you, Siora.”

After that, Kurt tried once more to finish the letter to Reiner’s family, and still could not find the words. _You’ll have to tell them somehow,_ he thought. The Coin Guard would send a letter home, usually written by the deceased’s commanding officer, but Kurt had no faith that the commander of the shadow regiment would do so, or that they would tell the truth about Reiner’s death. _This is my duty. He deserves better than whatever lies they’d tell._ But the words would not come, and he put the pen aside. _Maybe once I’ve laid him to rest. Maybe tomorrow._

The day of Reiner’s burial was overcast, reflecting Kurt’s mood. Reiner was to be buried in the small cemetery outside the city outskirts that serviced both Coin Guard and Congregation citizens alike; Reiner had been both.

“He’d have liked that,” Kurt said. “Laid to rest in the ground, not burned or scattered.” Serene had precious little land, and none to waste on the graves of commoners; the dead were burned, their ashes scattered, often at the oceanfront. “He never liked fire.”

De Sardet, Vasco, and Siora accompanied him. “It is the way of our people as well,” she told Kurt as the burial ground came into view. “We return our dead to the earth. The most honored of our dead are granted tombs of stone deep within our sacred caves, but many lie in the ground outside those caverns.”

“The Nauts bury our dead at sea,” said Vasco.

“Wrapped in a canvas shroud with a cannonball at your feet,” said Kurt. When Vasco gave him a look of surprise, he said, “There was a Naut who died aboard the ship that took me from Theleme to the Congregation. Fell from one of the spars while he was drunk and broke his neck. They didn’t want us eavesdropping on their rituals, but I saw the body before they took it up, and heard some of the crewmen talking about it after.”

“Our burial rites are supposed to be secret,” Vasco said, frowning. “I’m surprised that they’d bury him at all with a contingent of Coin Guard aboard.”

“The captain didn’t have much choice. He was on a tight schedule, and we were another fortnight at sea before we landed. No time to turn around, and I doubt you’d want to leave a body that long, even stuffed in a wine cask.”

“It would be at the captain’s discretion,” said Vasco. “Even so, aboard a troop transport…”

“No one saw. There were rumors they did it in the dead of night,” said Kurt. “If a few drunk sailors can’t keep their mouths shut, it wouldn’t matter when you buried him.”

“Sailors and their liquor,” Vasco sighed. “We Nauts prize our secrets, but sometimes I think it’s a miracle we’ve kept them this long.”

“Our burial rites are also secret,” said Siora. “Although much is the same, the details are different in each clan, and we do not discuss them with outsiders.”

“Then it’s an honor that you allowed us to help as much as you did,” said Kurt.

“You were all very kind to me,” said Siora. “I am glad to do what I can for you.”

“As are we all,” said de Sardet. “I’m truly sorry that we’ve seen so much death since arriving on Teer Fradee. I did not know Bladnid or Reiner, but I know what it is to lose someone you love, and I am so very sorry for you both.” Her eyes were wet, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her mother.

When he saw the wagon bearing Reiner’s casket arriving, he took a moment to speak with the lieutenant in charge of burial detail. “Lieutenant…”

“Werner,” the lieutenant replied.

“I see you have a contingent of recruits for burial detail,” he said, nodding toward half a dozen recruits who were sitting on the wagon around the casket.

“Yes, sir. It’s an irregular detail for those assigned to the Eighth Regiment. They’ll act as pallbearers.”

“Tell one of them they can be relieved,” Kurt said. “Reiner was my recruit. I’ll take the detail.” Werner looked as if he might like to argue the point, but he was a lieutenant, and Kurt a captain. “I can make it an order,” Kurt said.

Before Werner could respond, they were interrupted. “Sir?” Both Kurt and Werner turned to see a recruit, one of half a dozen. “We’re Reiner’s friends, sir,” the boy said; he looked about Reiner’s age, no older than sixteen. “From the eleventh. We’d like to help bury him, if you’d let us.”

Again, Kurt looked to Werner. “I can make it an order, Lieutenant.”

Werner frowned. “As you like it, Captain.” Werner and his recruits departed, leaving ten mourners for Reiner’s funeral: Kurt, Vasco, de Sardet, Siora, and half a dozen members of the Coin Guard, all from the Eleventh Regiment, judging from their regimental insignia.

Kurt looked to the boys: half a dozen of them, more than enough to serve as pallbearers. “You were Reiner’s friends?”

“Yes, sir!” The boy who’d approached Werner paused, eyeing him as if trying to place his face, then said, “If I may ask, sir, don’t you serve in the palace? How did you know Reiner?”

“I recruited him,” Kurt said, and felt a dull stab of guilt mingled with fresh grief.

“Well, blast me! You’re Captain Kurt!” the boy blurted, then panicked. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just – Reiner said so much about you—”

“He wanted to be you,” another recruit broke in. “He said you were everything an officer of the Guard ought to be, that you fought better than any man he’d ever seen—”

“—and that if it wasn’t for him, he’d probably have been serving as some lord’s hired muscle in Serene, or worse,” a third recruit interrupted, and then they were all speaking at once.

“Slow down,” he told them. “I hadn’t seen Reiner since he was reassigned here.” _If I’d gone looking for him a few days sooner, he might still be alive._ “I haven’t been on the island for very long myself, and I haven’t been in New Serene much at all lately. I’d like to know a little more about his time here, if you’d be willing to tell me.”

“We’d be glad to, sir.” The first recruit who’d spoken straightened. “I’m Erich. Recruit, First Class, of the Eleventh. We’re all from the Eleventh.” He pointed at his friends, introducing them in turn. “Let me introduce Gerhard, Lukas, Emil, Anton, and Irma. Anton and Irma are recruits first-class, Gerhard, Lukas, and Emil are recruits second-class.”

Irma gave a rueful smile. “We all used to take bets on who’d be first to make lieutenant. Erich and I bet on ourselves, but the rest of them put their money on Reiner.”

“We took bets on who’d be the first to die, too,” said Gerhard. “Most of us had our money on Emil. None of us thought it would be Reiner.”

“He was too good a fighter,” said Anton. “I wish I could handle a sword half as well as him. He was a natural.”

“He was good, yes, but he practiced,” Kurt replied, thinking of watching Reiner in the training yard. “He learned from his mistakes. He never held a two-handed sword until he joined the Guard.” Reiner’s weapons on the streets of Serene had been a rusty rapier and a nasty knife. “I hope he made his regiment proud.”

“He did, sir.”

Kurt looked to them. “You’ll help lay him to rest?”

“Yes, sir! If you’ll let us.”

“Let you? I’ll help you.”

Anton relaxed. “Oh, good, sir. We all want to do it, but none of us have ever had the chance.”

“What he means is, we don’t know how,” Lukas offered. “We’re all from cities, sir, back in the Congregation. None of us have ever had to put a casket into the ground.”

“It’s as easy as a drill.” So, instead of holding the coffin, Kurt ended up instructing the recruits on how to do it: assembling them in formation around the coffin, ordering them to lift, march in time, and lower it into the open grave, which looked to have been freshly dug, undoubtedly by Werner’s recruits. Under his watchful eye, Reiner’s friends lowered him into his grave. When they were done, Kurt picked up one of the shovels from nearby and got to work. Without being asked, Reiner’s friends joined him, until the grave was entirely filled in.

When that was done, Kurt retrieved the marker he’d made, driving it into the earth. “Reiner was my recruit,” he said. “He was a good man, a talented man, who deserved far better than this. He was everything that a member of the Coin Guard ought to be: honorable, upright, and loyal, both to his comrades and to his ideals.” Kurt faltered. _I don’t have the words; I never do._ He felt a lump in his throat, and he swallowed it down, trying to keep from crying. “The first time I met Reiner, he was in an alleyway, defending a woman he’d never seen before in his life, with no reward save having done the right thing.” He told them that story: of how he’d seen Reiner arguing with four drunken Nauts, and how he’d intervened to help him. “He was willing to take them on alone, because he knew it was the right thing to do. Even though it could have gotten him killed.”

He looked down at Reiner’s grave, then, and found himself momentarily unable to go on. Only when he felt the presence of de Sardet at his side did he find it in himself to speak. “He shouldn’t have died here, like this.” _I should have left him with his family._ “He has a family in Serene he took care of, after his parents died. Two sisters and a brother. He was the oldest, and he always made sure to protect them. That's why he joined the Guard: he wanted to earn enough coin to make sure they'd never want for anything.” A jagged breath cut through his words, and he had to take another moment before he could speak. “I can’t do justice to him,” he said finally. “He was a good kid, and he would have made a fine officer. I was proud of him. I wish I could have told him that. I hope he knew.”

He bowed his head, stepping back, and let the recruits take their turns at speaking. Kurt listened intently to their stories: Anton had mustered into the Coin Guard at the same time as Reiner, and they’d gone through training together. The others had only met him on Teer Fradee, but all were eager to share their tales of him. Kurt listened to them all. _That’s my Reiner,_ he thought, as he heard Lukas telling of how Reiner had helped him grow better at swordsmanship, or Emil speaking of how Reiner had covered for him one night when he’d had too much to drink.

“He wasn’t the sort to get roaring drunk, and he wouldn’t come with us to the brothel, but he was always the best sort of friend,” Gerhard offered. “He said he was saving all his money to send home.”

“He wanted to pay for apprenticeships for all his siblings,” Irma offered. “He wanted them to come over. Said there was no malichor here, that they wouldn't believe that water could be so clear, or air so fresh. Wanted them all to make a home together in New Serene." 

“He always talked about them. I never had any brothers or sisters, but it felt like Robert, Anna, and Freyja were my family too,” Lukas volunteered.

“He was the best of us all,” Erich said. He paused, squared his shoulders, and looked directly at Kurt. “He vanished, and they said he was reassigned…but they told us not to ask too many questions. Was he part of your regiment, sir?”

“No,” Kurt said. “I recruited him in Serene, and I was going to try to have him reassigned to the Eighth Regiment, to help guard our new governor. But when I went to find him, Manfred told me he was dead.”

“They said he died from an accident,” added Gerhard. “Falling into the harbor, dead drunk, but…Reiner wasn’t the sort to get drunk. I don’t think he ever had more than one or two drinks a night, and it was always cheap beer, not the sort that would get you drunk too quick.”

“He wouldn’t spend the coin,” Irma added. “He wanted to send it home to his family.”

“Reiner wasn’t the sort to drink,” Kurt agreed. “He knew how to swim, too.”

Erich scrutinized him. “You don’t think it was an accident either, do you, sir?”

Kurt froze, weighing his options. _If I tell these recruits the truth, I could get them killed. But they may know more about what happened to Reiner…where he was transferred, who his commanding officer was, when he was moved. He might have said something about where he was going._ He also knew he was a terrible liar, and had the feeling that at least some of the recruits would see the deception: Lukas or Emil might accept his words at face value, but Irma and Erich would not.

Kurt looked to de Sardet, the question in his eyes. She knew him well enough to know what he was asking, and he knew her well enough to see the answer. _Tell them the truth._ Not everything, not enough to endanger them, but enough that he might hope to get some useful information in return.

“I don’t,” he said simply. “I want to find out the truth…but I don’t want to put any of you in danger. I know that Reiner was moved from your regiment, and that records of his transfer were destroyed. What I don’t know is where he went, or when, or why.” He looked from recruit to recruit, meeting their eyes. “I recruited Reiner,” he said again. “He was my responsibility. It’s my duty to find those responsible for his death and bring them to justice.”

“You don’t think it was an accident, then?” asked Emil.

“I don’t. But that’s a dangerous opinion to have, and not one I’d want any of you sharing. I’m going to look into this myself.” He fixed Erich with a stern gaze; he had the feeling that the recruit would try to take matters into his own hands if left to his own devices. “But I’d appreciate anything you can tell me about Reiner’s reassignment. Anything you know about where he might have went, anything you might have heard about a so-called ‘phantom regiment,’ even any rumors about special training or unusual assignments—”

“The phantom regiment,” Anton breathed. “There are so many rumors about them.”

“They only take the best of the best, and they’ll take you in the middle of the night, like a ghost,” Lukas supplied.

“They took Reiner, they did. He was in the regiment one day, and gone the next.”

The recruits reiterated what Alric had told him in the tavern, but they were able to supply even more information: when Reiner had arrived on Teer Fradee, when he’d joined the Eleventh, when he’d disappeared. Kurt learned that less than a month before his reassignment, Reiner had distinguished himself in combat, rallying his squadron to fight off a pack of _ulg_ that had descended on them unexpectedly.

“It wasn’t the first time he’d proved himself, sir,” said Irma. “He’d fended off other wild animals before. _Ulg_ , _vaileg_ , _dosantat_ …he saved my life after I’d been dosed with poison. Made sure I got the antidote.”

“Those big ugly things, too, with the armor,” Emil offered. “I’m not so good with the native names. They scare me. He fought them off after Alric, Britta, and I were all wounded. Stephen and Dietrich were killed, and so was Lieutenant Fritz.”

“That’s what got their attention, I think. Reiner took charge of the squadron and got them back to New Serene. Everything else was just…more of the same, I suppose,” said Erich. “He’d seen a fair bit of fighting in his time on the island.”

“We all have,” said Anton.

“The difference is, Reiner was good at it,” Gerhard cracked, and despite everything, that drew smiles from a few of the recruits.

“It was so fast, and after…well, after, they told us not to ask. We never saw him again. The next thing we knew, we’d heard barracks rumors that he was gone, and Quartermaster Manfred confirmed it.”

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Irma said. “None of us did.” She looked down at the coffin. “To think that we’ll never see him again…”

“Have you buried many of your friends, sir?”

Kurt nodded. “I couldn’t tell you how many of my comrades I’ve buried. I joined the Coin Guard when I was five. Since then, I’ve survived my training, fought in two wars, kept order in a city during riots, and protected my charges against assassination attempts.”

“Does it get easier? Sir?”

Kurt was silent for a long moment. “I wish it did,” he said finally. “But every friend you bury hurts just as badly as the first…and with a recruit, it’s worse.”

“I convinced him to join the Coin Guard. I was with him when he signed the contract. I looked after him during his training.” Kurt looked down at Reiner’s grave, and he could no longer keep the tears from falling. “He was just a kid, and the thought that someone put him in the ground the way they did…dying in battle’s one thing. For a good cause, in the course of duty, well…there’s no shame in that. But for someone to have killed him, beaten him to death—”

He broke off abruptly. “You didn’t hear that,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Beaten? If we find the bastards who did that—” Gerhard began, but Erich silenced him with a look.

“We can’t. You heard the captain.” Erich met Kurt’s eyes. “We’ll tell you everything we know, and everything we hear about this phantom regiment.”

“Don’t go looking for information,” de Sardet spoke up. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t want any of you having an accident in the harbor.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gerhard blurted. “It’s a noble.”

“Show some respect, recruit,” Kurt snapped. “That’s Lady de Sardet to you. She’s the legate of the Congregation.” He nodded to each of his companions in turn. “Legate de Sardet, Captain Vasco, and Siora of the clan of the red spears.”

“You were Reiner’s friends?” Emil blurted.

“I’m afraid not,” said de Sardet. “But we are friends of Captain Kurt, and as such, I have promised him we will do everything in our power to help him gain justice for Recruit Reiner.” She looked to each of them in turn. “I fear that your friend was indeed murdered, and that we have yet to discover the person or people responsible. This phantom regiment and its secrets will be revealed, and we will bring Reiner’s killers to justice. However, to do so, we must maintain as much secrecy as possible.”

“Can any of you read?” Kurt asked. “Write?”

Erich was the only one who was proficient in both. “Then send me a note at the palace whenever you can. The governor will ensure it comes to me, even if I’m away from New Serene at the time. We can arrange to meet at the tavern, if you find anything that’s too sensitive to be put to paper.”

For now, the recruits provided him with as much information on the phantom regiment as they could: it wasn’t much, but it did give him a place to start. _This phantom regiment takes promising recruits from all regiments…not just from the Blue-Silver’s three, but from the Green-Azure and Red Sun. They don’t seem to return to the city._

“We’re going to have a memorial for Reiner in the tavern,” Gerhard offered once they had exhausted both their stories of Reiner and their stores of information about the phantom regiment. “Do you want to come, sir?”

“No. You go and remember him,” Kurt said.

De Sardet placed a hand on his arm. “Kurt, are you sure you don’t want to join them?”

“It’s better I don’t. They’ll want to remember Reiner as friends, grieve together, all of that. They won’t be able to do that in the presence of a superior officer.”

“And what of you?”

“I’ll finish my letter to Reiner's family, and try to honor his memory by finding out what happened to him. Reiner was found in the harbor, but no one saw him in the tavern that night, and there’s no proof he was ever in New Serene,” he said to de Sardet. “His body was dumped in the harbor, but from where?”

“It must be fairly near, or the body would have decayed,” said de Sardet.

“I would think it would be in your territory,” said Siora. “The _doneia esgregaw_ would know of the camps of the lions or the _saul lasser_.” 

“That would make sense,” said de Sardet. “Yet how can we find out if there is such a camp, or where it might be located?”

“Let me reach out to my friends,” said Kurt. “These kids have provided us with a few leads; I should be able to track something down. Manfred is the quartermaster for the Blue-Silver Regiment; any camp would have to be kept supplied. Even if someone is diverting foodstuffs and ammunition instead of requisitioning it properly, he can track it down.”

“I’ll write him. Sieglinde, too.”

“Sieglinde? I don’t think I’ve heard her name before.”

“An old friend. We served together in the Red Sun Regiment; in fact, she was the leader of my platoon. She’s the one who recommended me for the master-at-arms post in Serene.”

De Sardet hesitated. “She did? I’ve never heard you mention her.”

“I haven’t seen her in years – not since she left for Teer Fradee, five years ago. It’s been far too long.” Sieglinde had been both his commanding officer in Theleme and one of his closest friends; she was perhaps a decade older than him, and had offered both good advice and friendship over the last fifteen years and more. “She’s a major now, and serving here in New Serene. I hope she’ll know more about this phantom regiment.”

“Can she be trusted?”

“Absolutely,” Kurt said without hesitation. “She’s as honorable as I am. From what Manfred tells me, Commander Torsten has kept her out of the city on assignment lately, inspecting the roads and the troops assigned to guard them, but I’ll be glad to see her again. We served together in the Red Sun, and transferred to the Blue-Silver together. She was an officer of your uncle’s guard for near ten years before she was assigned to Teer Fradee.”

“You knew her well?”

“Very well,” he said, and was surprised to see de Sardet frown. “She’s a good person, Green Blood. You’ll like her…though it may be a while before we can arrange a meeting in person. As I said, I haven’t seen her since we landed.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to head out of the city soon. I do need to give Constantin’s regards to the governors of San Matheus and Hikmet.”

“You’ve been generous enough as it is, giving me this time. Thanks to you, Reiner has a proper burial.”

“As you did for my mother,” Siora spoke up. “I am glad you were able to return your friend to the earth, Kurt. _Andevourshd tir e_.”

“Let us know when you find out who’s behind this,” Vasco added. “We’ll make them pay.”

As Siora nodded in agreement, her eyes full of sympathy, Kurt realized that his companions were sincere in their desire to help. _I thought it would be me and Green Blood, when it came time, but they’ll come too, if I let them._ After so many years spent isolated at the palace, the realization that he might have new comrades startled him.

_Siora understands war and honor,_ he thought, _and the sailor’s a better man than I gave him credit for._ Vasco’s early dislike of de Sardet had given Kurt pause; in turn, he thought that Vasco had seen him as a mere mercenary, willing to kill on command for coin without regards to honor, scruple, or duty. _And whose fault is that?_ It was the image that Kurt preferred to project to those who didn’t know him well: the battle-hardened mercenary who cared only for himself. _Easier to keep from being hurt if you keep people at arm’s length._

Now, he thought they understood each other better. Kurt had seen the look on Vasco’s face when he’d pored over his file, while Vasco’s comment about Kurt’s rank had been spoken with respect that Kurt hadn’t heard from him before. _I think we could be friends._ The Naut captain still held views Kurt would never understand - his pragmatism in combat, his seeming desire to be part of his noble family - but he was still a man Kurt could trust to fight beside him, a man he could respect. 

_It's been a long time since I had comrades I could trust._ He hadn't felt that way since serving with Sieglinde and Manfred in the Red Sun, before he'd come to Serene. _They may not be part of the Guard, but I'm glad to serve at their side._


	47. To San Matheus

They departed for San Matheus shortly after Reiner’s burial. De Sardet spent as much time with Kurt as she could; she didn’t want to hover over him, but she didn’t want to ignore him, either.

He read her the letter he’d composed to Reiner’s family, asking her opinion. “Is there anything you’d add? I’m no diplomat; I don’t know what to say to them.”

“It’s perfect,” she replied. Kurt had spoken openly of how honorable Reiner had been, how promising a recruit; his care had shone through in every word. “I would not change a single word.”

“I wish I could do more. The coin doesn’t feel like nearly enough.”

She’d seen how much money he was giving Reiner’s family. _For a family like Reiner’s, it will be a fortune._ De Sardet suspected that it was everything he’d won betting on her in the arena, along with his winnings from the competitions on the _Sea Horse_ , and perhaps some of his own salary as well _._

“I will add to the amount,” she promised him; she’d kept her promise to match whatever Kurt gave, and had quietly set an equal amount aside to return to him. _He shouldn’t have to impoverish himself to help Reiner’s family._ She had to admit that his compassion touched her. _He truly cared about him._

“It’ll be enough to do everything he wanted for his family…pay for apprenticeships, bring them over to Teer Fradee, all of it,” said Kurt. “Thank you for that, Green Blood. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“I was glad to help. I wish I could do more.”

“So do I. All the money in the world won’t bring him back, and it won’t get justice for him.”

“We’ll get justice for him,” she promised. “In time. I’ll do what I can to find out what happened, and if you hear anything, as soon as you know where to go or what we need to do…all you need do is say the word, and I will do anything I can to help.”

He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and she put a hand over his. “If there’s anything you need,” she told him, “anything at all, even if you just want to talk…I would not leave you alone while you are suffering.”

“Thank you,” he said, then fell silent, his eyes still distant with half-concealed grief. 

“He must have been extraordinary. I never knew you were so close.”

“You seemed really attached to Reiner,” she ventured. 

“He brought some memories back. I was a bit like him at his age, and I felt responsible for his well-being. After all, I recruited him.” Kurt looked at her, his brow furrowing. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of this poor kid?”

“Don’t be foolish,” de Sardet replied, feeling a little foolish herself, if only because she had to admit that she had been. _When I was thinking he was closer to my age, when I thought he might have been fonder of him for other reasons…_

But those thoughts had vanished as soon as she’d set eyes on Reiner; he’d looked like little more than a child. “It’s just that you seemed so hurt about everything he went through, I wanted to understand how you felt.”

“That’s…kind,” Kurt said, looking abashed. “I’m sorry I made that stupid comment. This whole matter makes me nervous. I should have known that you were far too subtle to feel like that.”

“It’s quite all right,” she said automatically. _How do I feel?_ She was touched by Kurt’s concern for Reiner. _Would he have reacted in the same way if something had happened to me?_ She wasn’t one of his recruits, but he had taught her, and looked after her as he had done with Reiner, though their relationship had been of longer duration. _How well did he know Reiner? From what he said of him at his funeral, he wished he knew more. I do not think he ever let anyone get close to him._ Since coming to Teer Fradee, she had gotten to know Kurt better. _He was always my guard and my master-at-arms, but now I can say he’s truly my friend._ She was only sorry that she hadn’t done it sooner. _All those years in Serene, and I never knew him half as well as I should have. I never thought of him as having a life outside of being my master-at-arms; I never tried to imagine how he must feel._ That made her all the more determined to make up for it now. 

“You seem troubled, Green Blood.” 

“This matter…I’ll admit, it makes me uneasy as well,” she confessed. “First, the weapons in those crates; then, hearing of these secret camps; then, the matter with Egon, the merchants, and that silver coin…and now, Reiner’s death and our discovery of this phantom regiment. Do you think they’re all connected?”

“I intend to find out,” he replied. “Reiner deserves justice.”

“If you would prefer to remain in New Serene, I could pay my respects to the Mother Cardinal alone,” she said. “If you think that you might hear information from one of those recruits, or if you would simply prefer to have time to grieve—”

“No,” Kurt said vehemently. “I won’t shirk my duties, Green Blood. I wouldn’t leave you to face those roads alone, either. We both know how dangerous it can be out there.”

“Vasco and Siora would look after me.”

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “The sailor and the pretty twig can fight, I’ll give them that, but I still wouldn’t send you out there alone with them.”

“I don’t want to force you to have to attend to your duties when you’ve just lost someone you care about,” de Sardet protested.

“Do you think I’d be able to lie about here if you left me behind?” Kurt asked. “I’d be spending my days at the palace, guarding Constantin, and my nights at the barracks. Coin Guard don’t get leave just because one of their comrades is dead.”

“Besides,” he said, “it’s better not to dwell on it; that only makes it worse. Give me something to do. It’ll take time before I can learn anything about this phantom regiment; Manfred and Sieglinde will help me, and those recruits may hear something in the barracks or the streets, but until then I can’t laze about doing nothing.”

“I can’t imagine you ever doing nothing,” de Sardet said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you.”

But first, they had to go to San Matheus. “When will you be back?” Constantin asked her the night before her departure; he had invited her to dinner at the palace, just the two of them.

“As soon as I can,” she replied. “I doubt that I will be more than a few days in each city; this is only a first meeting, a simple audience with each governor to pay your respects.”

“Don’t stay away too long,” he said. “It feels as if you’ve just arrived! You’ve hardly been at the palace since your return from Vedrhais.”

“I’ve had other matters to handle, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, yes, the sad business of Kurt’s recruit. Are you certain the boy was murdered?”

“Absolutely. He was beaten to death. The wounds were horrible.” De Sardet shuddered.

“I confess myself astonished that Kurt took you to see that.”

“He was expecting to introduce me to his recruit.” De Sardet shook her head. “He was so proud of him. He wanted to assign him to protect you.”

“As if I require protection. The palace is perfectly safe! All these guards are wholly unnecessary. We aren’t in Serene, after all.”

“He wants to look out for you,” de Sardet said.

Constantin set down his wine-glass. “And you feel I’ve been less than grateful.”

“Kurt has spent nearly half his life protecting us both,” said de Sardet. “Until we left Serene, I did not know how little I knew of him. I didn’t even know he’d recruited a boy into the Coin Guard, did you?”

“How would we have known? It isn’t as if he ever said anything. He might as well have been a statue…at least, when he wasn’t throwing his weight around in the training yard. ‘Fight with honor!’” Constantin said, sweeping his knife into a mock fencing salute. “Besides, he’s a Coin Guard. It was his duty to protect us…and his job. He’s fond of playing the cold-hearted mercenary, isn’t he?”

“But that isn’t who he is. If you’d seen how upset he was when he learned of Reiner’s death…or how furious he was to learn that someone had attempted to hide the truth…he does have feelings, Constantin,” she said gently.

“Forgive me if I have my doubts.” Constantin took another bite of his meal. “The steak is truly delicious; you should have some more.”

“It is delicious, but you’ve barely touched it,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“Some stomach upset, that’s all. I think some of these new native foods do not agree with me,” he replied, poking at the vegetables with his fork. “I’m sure it will pass soon enough."

"You have used your taster?"

"Yes, yes, I would not worry you. The taster has been fine, and the doctors agree it is certainly not poison. You know I’ve always had a weak stomach, and the doctors reassure me that it takes time to adapt to a new clime.”

“I haven’t had any problems,” said de Sardet. 

“Ah, but you’ve always had excellent health! When we were children, it seemed that you were never ill, where I had more than my share of sicknesses.”

“And more than your share of trying to play at being sick to get out of lessons,” she teased him.

“That too! Though I soon learned that neither of my parents cared if I was ill, so long as I was not dying. As long as they were not in danger of losing their precious heir, nothing else mattered.” He looked down at his plate, frowning, but soon returned to his usual cheerful self. “But enough of that! I am sure you have enough troubles; I do not need to add to them. Especially now that we are so far from my father and all his wretched schemes!”

“We have schemes enough to worry about,” de Sardet replied. “All of this troubles me. The business with those corrupt Coin Guards and their silver coins, the crates full of weapons we smuggled, and now a murdered recruit…it seems to me that something is terribly wrong, but I cannot figure out the connections.”

“I would not trouble yourself, my fair cousin. There are corrupt guards in every city; I am sure that there were men in Serene taking bribes and extorting the local merchants, but we were too far removed from such tedious trivialities to know the truth. They would not dare extort the great merchant families, after all, and it’s not as if you ever patronized the merchants in the lower boroughs.” 

“But the talk of a phantom regiment, and the missing weapons…”

Constantin took another sip of wine. “Let Kurt handle it,” he said airily. “The Coin Guard are mercenaries; of course they require weapons.”

“Why would they need to smuggle them to Teer Fradee? Kurt says that the weapons are typically supplied by their employers as part of the contract.”

“And those employers undoubtedly give them substandard weaponry, or fewer weapons than were required. Corruption and graft exist everywhere, and contracts for supplying the mercenary companies often go to the lowest bidders.”

_Which is why Kurt’s garments were so threadbare,_ she thought. She still felt ashamed that she had never noticed. _He will never have such poor clothing again._ She’d taken great joy in providing him the trunk full of tailored garments. _I’m relieved he accepted them. I was worried he wouldn’t._ She hadn’t wanted to offend him.

Constantin was still speaking, unaware of her thoughts. “…so you see, the Coin Guard undoubtedly wish to give themselves better weapons, but without a contract of their own with the Nauts, they must resort to smuggling.”

“But this phantom regiment? Reiner’s death?”

“That is more troubling,” Constantin admitted, “but do you think there’s a possibility that all this talk of a phantom regiment is nothing more than a legend among the troops? Perhaps this recruit did die in some accident his commander wants to cover up, but there’s no connection to the rest of it.”

“But Reiner was taken from his regiment, and other recruits have disappeared. Even their quartermaster does not know where they have been reassigned.”

“Then look into it,” said Constantin. “I trust that you and Kurt will uncover the truth, if there is anything to be uncovered.” He paused, chewing slowly. “What of your other companions? The lovely young native woman who looks so much like you, and that enchanting Naut captain?”

“Siora is grieving her mother,” said de Sardet. “As for Captain Vasco, I hope he has begun to reconcile himself to remaining ashore with me, although there are times I think he still resents me. We have learned he has a brother who is on business in Hikmet; I think that when I go to introduce myself to Governor Burhan, he may seek to meet with him.”

“That is exciting! Give him my regards – Captain Vasco, I mean, although of course you’ll pay your respects to Governor Burhan. Do you know anything about his family? I believe you said he was born a noble?” Vasco had given de Sardet permission to tell Constantin of his discovery, though not how they had made it; he'd hoped that Constantin might be able to tell him more about his family, or help with locating Bastien d'Arcy, who he'd discovered was currently on the island. De Sardet hadn't wanted to tell him that Constantin's memories of Bastien would be no fonder than her own, but she had raised the subject in the hopes that Constantin might be able to help them find Bastien, or perhaps arrange a meeting once Bastien had returned to New Serene. "What did you say his birth name was again?" 

“Leandre," she said, "of House d’Arcy. His brother is Sir Bastien d’Arcy.”

Constantin frowned. “I remember him.”

“As do I.” De Sardet sighed. “If you see him, don’t say anything. Bastien was a child when we knew him; he may have changed.”

“You are too kind.” Constantin paused. “You are off to San Matheus first, are you not?”

“The Mother Cardinal wrote you first. Protocol dictates I visit her before Governor Burhan.” De Sardet paused. “In truth, I am glad. I know that Vasco would likely wish to see his brother sooner, but I’m worried about bringing Siora to Hikmet. I don’t want to leave her here, but the city may be dangerous for her, and I know she will not enjoy the visit.”

“You could always leave her with me,” Constantin said with a smile. “I would be happy to entertain our lovely acquaintance.”

“I’m sure you would, but I don’t know how Siora would feel about that.”

“When have I been anything but charming?”

“Then I don’t know how I feel about that,” said de Sardet, good-humoredly. “You can’t intend on seducing _all_ of my companions.”

“Of course not,” Constantin said. “I know my charms are considerable, but I doubt that even I could have any success with Kurt.”

He gave her a wry look, and de Sardet laughed. “I don’t think you’re his type.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ is his type,” Constantin replied. “I don’t think he was affectionate with anyone the entire time we were in Serene.”

“How would you know? We didn’t know he had recruited Reiner.”

“Do you think they were involved?”

“No!” De Sardet’s reaction was immediate. “Kurt would be horrified by the thought. The idea of taking advantage of someone he’d mentored…Reiner was only a boy. He was young enough he could have been Kurt’s son.”

“Now there’s a thought. Kurt with children,” Constantin said. “I can’t imagine that…mostly because it would mean that a woman would have had to have been willing to bear them.” He made a face, then preemptively added, “Oh, don’t look at me that way. He was always such a sour sort when I wanted to have any fun. I can’t imagine him with a woman.”

_I don’t want to imagine him with another woman,_ de Sardet thought. The realization took her aback. _Was Kurt right? Was I jealous of Reiner?_

She shook the thought off as Constantin went on. “But enough of Kurt. Let’s speak of something more cheerful. I’ve been thinking of some renovations to the palace…specifically, of finding a place for those portraits I brought…”

The conversation moved on, and de Sardet laughed again as she realized that Constantin had brought over one of the portraits that Sir de Cortone had made of him. “He promised to finish the others after I’d gone,” he said, “but this is the one I wanted to put up in the governor’s mansion, though I’m considering having another commissioned. If I could have your opinion…”

They talked late into the night. When de Sardet returned to her home, she found Vasco waiting up for her. “Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yes,” said Vasco. “Kurt was going to wait up, but I convinced him to get some rest. Grief wears on a person more than he wants to admit.”

“How is he?”

“How do you think? Siora was understanding, though. I think it was good for them to spend a night talking together while you weren’t here.”

“What do you mean, while I wasn’t here?”

“Neither of them had to worry about you,” Vasco replied. “Siora’s lost her mother, but she knows how much talking about that hurts you.”

“She’s lost her mother,” de Sardet said, and couldn’t help but think of her own. “She should be able to grieve without worrying about how it affects me.”

“It’s affecting you now,” Vasco said bluntly. “That’s what she’d prefer to avoid. She’s your friend as much as you are hers, and friends don’t enjoy causing each other pain. It’s the same with Kurt mourning for his recruit…he doesn’t want to put too much on you. He knows you’d take it all on yourself, and he doesn’t want to burden you.”

“I told him he could never be a burden.”

“That doesn’t change how he feels. Don’t push things; if he wants to talk, let him talk, but otherwise, you’d do best to let them both deal with it in their own way.” Vasco paused. “Whether you’ll admit it or not, it was a good thing that they had a night to talk to each other. Kurt talked about how he recruited Reiner, and Siora talked about the rituals she’ll perform for her mother. The natives’ burial rites don’t end when the body is in the ground; they’ll continue to perform rites for a year afterward, at periodic intervals. It’s a way of gradually coming to terms with the loss.”

“I wish there was more I could do for them.”

“You helped bury Queen Bladnid properly and ensured that the Coin Guard couldn’t cover up Reiner’s death. You’re too hard on yourself,” said Vasco. He yawned. “Now, we should both get some rest, or we’ll be half-asleep on the road to San Matheus tomorrow.”

Fortunately, it was an easy journey; there were the usual animals, but not nearly as many brigands; not until they reached the city’s outskirts did they encounter any, fending off a group of would-be robbers just before they descended into the wheat fields that surrounded San Matheus. The guards at the entrance greeted them, and let them pass as soon as de Sardet identified herself.

“You’re under the eye of the Enlightened now,” said Vasco as they passed through the city gates. “Best hope your underwear is clean.”

Kurt snorted, and de Sardet laughed despite herself. “I hope that the Enlightened does not spend His time looking at women’s undergarments,” she said.

“Oh? Then you think He prefers men?”

“Vasco!” De Sardet laughed.

“You’ve said you aren’t of the luminous faith,” he replied. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“No, but you can’t say such things in San Matheus,” she said, looking around anxiously. “I should not have spoken as I did. The inquisitors have little humor regarding their god.”

“You can say what you like, Green Blood. Your status as a diplomat protects you. The sailor, on the other hand…”

“I’ve always had a quick tongue,” Vasco said. “As I told you, I paid for it many times over…yet I never learned to control it entirely.”

“Best learn to start,” Kurt said. “At least here.” He looked to de Sardet. “And best hide the little one in the embassy before we go to the palace. Pretty twigs burn just as well as the rest of them.”

“Kurt, you’re scaring her,” de Sardet objected. “Siora, your people are not at war with Theleme.” It was Hikmet that she was worried about, when they made their visit to Governor Burhan; the Bridge Alliance was still at war with Siora’s tribe, and she doubted that she would be able to negotiate a cease-fire after such an overwhelming victory.

“No, but he is right,” said Siora. “The suns call our god a demon. They see this as a mark of evil.” She touched the birthmark that was a mirror of de Sardet’s own. “They will not be kind.”

De Sardet frowned. “Do you think they will see my own marking the same way?”

“You do not worship _en on mil frichtimen_ ,” Siora replied. “They may not trust you, but I do not think they will try to burn you.”

“I am a legate of the Congregation of Merchants, the representative of an allied nation.” De Sardet spoke the words more to reassure herself than to inform Siora. “They should respect me.”

“They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on you, Green Blood,” said Kurt. “For one, I’d make them regret it if they tried. For another, Constantin wouldn’t stand for it. He’d burn this city to the ground before he’d let your eyebrows get singed.”

“Not that it would happen,” she said. “Come; let’s find the embassy and take Siora there, then go present ourselves to the Mother Cardinal.”

“Wait,” said Vasco. “Am I coming with you?”

“Why not? I wouldn’t ask it of Siora, but the Nauts have no quarrel with Theleme; you are allied with them as surely as we are.”

“We have a contract with them,” Vasco replied. “I would hardly call that an alliance. They are suspicious of my people…willing to use our services, because they are poor sailors themselves, but I would not call them our friends.”

“If you are unwilling…”

“I didn’t say that,” Vasco replied. “But I can’t imagine why you’d want me at your side in a throne room.” He tugged on his captain’s coat; de Sardet had offered him other armor, but he’d refused. “I may once have been from a noble family of the Congregation, but I am still not the sort of man you’d present to a governor.”

“Why not? I am sure you know your courtesies.”

“If I can master them, you can too,” Kurt added. “If you want to play the noble, you bow when she does, smile, and follow her lead. If you’d rather be the guard, it’s easier: stand back, look straight ahead, and watch the courtiers to make sure there aren’t any assassins hiding in the crowd. They’ll act like you don’t exist.”

“Unless one of them does try to assassinate me,” de Sardet said.

“Does that happen often in a throne room?”

“Some throne rooms more than others,” Kurt replied. “Not in Serene, not for a very long time…and I’d hope not in San Matheus. These settlements are too new for so much politicking.”

“I would be happy if you’d come with me,” de Sardet told Vasco. “We are likely to be in San Matheus often, and I would not like to have to leave you at the embassy every time we come. Please, let me present you.” She paused. “I know you’ve been curious about life in the nobility; this might help satisfy that curiosity.”

“You’ll know where to go, won’t you?” de Sardet asked. “You said that you’ve been to all of the cities of the island before. Neither Kurt nor I have ever been to San Matheus. I would hardly wish to get lost.”

“The city isn’t entirely safe,” said Vasco. “I’d say there are more pickpockets and brigands than in New Serene.”

“What, in broad daylight?” Kurt asked.

“Most of the cutthroats wait until dark, but you’d still run the risk of getting your pocket picked,” said Vasco. “We may be under the eye of the Enlightened here, but there are enough thieves who seem to think they’ll get away with it.”

“If you don’t want to go, Kurt and I will get by on our own,” said de Sardet.

“No. I won’t shirk my duties,” said Vasco. “If you’re sure that appearing at a noble court with a Naut captain won’t harm your reputation…”

De Sardet laughed. “It’s not as if I’m arriving with a captain of the Bridge Alliance.”

“Well, then,” said Vasco. “Let’s see what the priests of Theleme make of us, shall we?”


	48. Father Petrus

Petrus looked up from his work. “What is it?”

“You asked me to inform you if there was any news of the new legate,” the priest said. “From the Congregation.”

Petrus’s heart beat faster, and he had to work to maintain his composure. “Yes, Father Stephen?”

“She’s arrived in the city, Your Excellency. Come to pay her respects to the Mother Cardinal. As I understand it, she is in the square now.”

“Thank you,” he said. “As her counterpart, I intend to introduce myself as soon as possible. Perhaps I can help ease her introduction to Cornelia; I understand the new legate is young, and may find Cornelia intimidating.”

“If she’s grown up at the Prince d’Orsay’s court, I doubt she’d fear the Mother Cardinal,” Stephen said frankly. “That man is supposedly more fearsome than Her Supreme Holiness herself.”

“He is also her uncle,” Petrus reminded him; he knew the truth of that, but Father Stephen did not. “I would hope that she is at least a little fond of him.” _I wonder how he has treated her._ The Princess de Sardet had spoken as if she thought her daughter would need protecting; she had intimated to Petrus that Augustin d’Orsay saw his young niece as a pawn to be used to his advantage, while Jeanne de Sardet had insisted she was a child to be cherished and loved.

_Both her mothers loved her very much,_ Petrus thought. It still hurt him to think of Arelwin. _They both hoped she would become a gifted young woman. I hope she has._ A pang of guilt struck him then. _I should have remained in Serene. I promised Arelwin I would look after her, and what have I done? Watched from a distance, gleaned what little information I could, and promised myself I would fulfill that promise when I could._

 _Now is that time._ He rose from his desk. “Thank you for the information, Father Stephen. Given that the legate has come to pay her respects to Cornelia, I suspect that I will be called upon to do the same for Governor d’Orsay. If you could give my servants orders to pack my trunks, I would appreciate it.” He was wearing his ceremonial armor; a breastplate and helmet were customary for those in Cornelia’s court. He’d taken the latter off while working; the helmet was hot and rather heavy for wearing indoors, particularly in the island’s tropical climes.

As Petrus replaced his helmet, he found his palms were sweaty; he wiped them on a pant leg, hoping Stephen would not notice. _You’d think I was a boy going courting, not a man meeting his diplomatic counterpart._ Yet Alexandra de Sardet was far more than that. _She is Arelwin’s daughter. To see her after all this time…it has been nearly twenty years._ He had left Serene when de Sardet was eight, and she was now twenty-five, or very nearly so. _The years, how they fly. It feels like yesterday that I met her mother._ Arelwin’s face hovered in his mind’s eye, the image of a lovely young woman, frightened and pale, with the same striking marking as her daughter. _The same marking worn by so many of the natives here. I would never have guessed it was so common! When I saw Arelwin, I believed it to be as unique as she was._

He thought again of her daughter. _Alexandra. Even then, she looked every inch her mother’s daughter._ He wondered if the Princess de Sardet had ever breathed a word of the truth to her. _I doubt it. The court of Serene is much like the court of the Holy City, or of San Matheus, or San Adrian, or any city in Theleme. Deception and lies are the way of things, and whatever the Princess de Sardet may have told herself, I cannot believe she would ever have spoken to her daughter of the truth._ If she was still ignorant, Petrus hoped to reveal that truth. _I owe Arelwin that much. I owe her everything._

Petrus hastened through the halls of the palace, waiting in the main hall. As he did so, he caught sight of a trio who had just entered, and were now crossing the entrance hall with an eye toward the marble staircase at the opposite end: a taller man wearing the blue and silver doublet of a member of the Coin Guard, a shorter one who looked to be wearing a Naut captain’s coat, and a woman who was walking between them. Their backs were to Petrus, and all he could see of the woman was her blue cape and feathered hat.

“Young lady?” he called out. “Pardon me, are you not part of the new governor’s entourage?”

“I’m his cousin. I’m accompanying him on his mission to Teer Fradee. What can I do for you, Father?”

The woman turned, and Petrus’s heart felt as if it might stop entirely. _Arelwin,_ he thought. It was as if she was a ghost made flesh, or as if the last twenty-five years had never happened and he was back in that dungeon, laying eyes upon a strange young woman for the first time. Her name was on his lips, though by some miracle of the Enlightened, he managed to refrain from saying it aloud.

Instead, he said his own. “Bishop Petrus. How divinely fortunate this is!” A longer look at the young legate told him she was not Arelwin: though she resembled her mother greatly, they were not identical. Most prominently, she lacked the branches that had risen like a crown above Arelwin’s ears, but there were other small differences in the shape of their faces, the arch of their brow, the line of the jaw. _But they look so much alike._ Most of all, Arelwin’s daughter shared her wide blue eyes, a strikingly vivid shade.

“Did you know I had the honor of meeting you at your uncle’s court when you were a child? I would never have imagined you would grow up to resemble the island natives so closely!” _I would never have imagined that you would look so much like your mother,_ he wanted to say. _You are her living image._

“The island had yet to be discovered,” de Sardet replied. “How could you have known?”

Petrus let out a laugh, hoping it wouldn’t sound forced. _She has no idea…or she is very good at keeping her own secrets._ He suspected it was the former. _I pride myself on ferreting out the truth; I would know if she was trying to deceive me._ “You haven’t lost your clever little tongue! You were always quite a remarkable young girl. I’m on my way to New Serene as an ambassador to the new governor. Do you think there would be room for me to accompany you? The roads are not truly safe.”

As he spoke, he eyed the governor’s companions: the personal guard he understood, but the Naut captain puzzled him. _De Sardet has value to the Nauts; she is their lost sea-born._ Petrus had been present in Serene for the events surrounding the return of Alexandre de Sardet’s ill-fated expedition, and remembered the riots that had followed after the Prince d’Orsay had recovered his brother-in-law’s body from the Nauts, along with Arelwin and her infant daughter. _Alexandra was born at sea, and the consequences when the Prince d’Orsay chose to take her from them were most dire._ There had been violence aboard the Naut ship, followed by riots in the streets; warehouses had burned in the Port Quarter and lower boroughs alike, and the Nauts had turned their cannons on the city, the Coin Guard responding with their own artillery fire.

 _That there was not open war between them was an achievement of diplomacy. How the Prince d’Orsay managed to keep the alliance intact, I hardly know._ Petrus was aware of the less savory actions that had surrounded d’Orsay’s reparations to the Nauts: the mass donation of children, the threats he had made to noble families to induce them to donate those children, the coin paid out. He wondered if the Naut was an ambassador of his own people, sent to try to bring de Sardet back into the fold. _I am sure she doesn’t know the truth of her own birth. She cannot know she is a Naut._ He eyed the young man at her side, about de Sardet’s age, with tattoos covering proud features. _Does he?_

Petrus’s attention snapped back to de Sardet as she spoke. “I must first meet the Mother Cardinal to present my respects on behalf of my cousin.” But her tone was friendly, and she seemed willing.

Petrus took the opportunity. “I will accompany you, and then we can take the road together! I am so happy our paths have crossed once again.”

As they ascended the steps, de Sardet said, “I fear I have failed to properly introduce myself.”

“There is no need. I remember you from my days at your uncle’s court. Lady Alexandra de Sardet, is it not? I often remember seeing you with your cousin, Sir Constantin.”

“Yes,” she said. “I am surprised you remember me.” She tilted her head. “Though I think I remember you, as well. Did you not try to teach me magic?”

“Yes, I did,” said Petrus, pleased she remembered. “You were very young at the time, and preferred to chase your cousin around the halls with a wooden sword…but I did try!”

“You may be pleased to know that I did pursue that gift, although not until a few years after you had left Serene.”

“She’s very talented,” the bodyguard spoke up; he was a large man, taller even than Petrus, and certainly broader of shoulder. His voice was rough, with the accents of the Coin Guard, but the look he gave the legate shone with pride. “Green Blood fights as well with magic as anyone I’ve ever met – and she knows how to wield a sword.”

“I’m competent, thanks to you, but you’ll make the bishop think I’m a master swordswoman,” de Sardet laughed, then turned to Petrus. “Captain Kurt was my master-at-arms in Serene. Here, he’s the captain of the palace guard, and has been protecting me from the dangers of the roads…for, as you say, they are hardly safe.”

“You did not have a master-at-arms when I was in Serene,” Petrus observed. “At least, not to my knowledge.”

“Kurt came to Serene when I was ten,” said de Sardet. “Constantin had just turned eleven, and his father decided that it was time for him to learn to fight.” She smiled warmly; happiness came easily to her, as it had not to Arelwin.

 _She has lived a life of ease,_ he reminded himself. _Raised as a noblewoman, the heir to House de Sardet…she certainly seemed a happy child._ He remembered the shrieks of laughter as she’d run through the halls, the gentle way her mother had chided her for the less-than-ladylike conduct, the obvious way that the Princess de Sardet had cherished her daughter. _It is not the life her true mother would have wanted her to live, but I think she would have been glad to know that she grew up safe and loved._

“What of your other companion?” Petrus asked.

“Allow me to present Captain Vasco of the Nauts,” de Sardet replied. “Admiral Cabral has assigned him to help me with my duties here.”

 _I was right,_ Petrus thought. _The Nauts do want to bring their lost sea-born back into the fold…or at least keep an eye on her to determine whether or not they would like to do so._ The idea did not wholly please him; in his own opinion, life as a Naut was not nearly as pleasant as that of a noblewoman. _It would be much harder to look after her if she joined them,_ he thought. But he doubted the Nauts would have much success: from what he saw of her, Alexandra de Sardet looked every inch the cultured noblewoman, happy with her lot in life.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, nodding first to Vasco, then to Kurt.

“A pleasure to meet you as well,” Vasco answered. “It is good to know that not all the priests here are fanatics like the one we met outside.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Vasco,” de Sardet chided him, then looked to Petrus. “On our way here, we encountered Inquisitor Aloysius.” A pained look crossed her features. “He was burning one of the natives’ guardians in the square. _Nadaig_ , they are called. And he was burning one alive!”

 _She may have grown up in her uncle’s court, but she does not hide her feelings as well as she should._ De Sardet looked upset, and her voice trembled as she spoke of it.

“That is not all,” she said. “He had native prisoners. He forced one of the men to watch the _nadaig_ burn…and he choked him to death. The man had done nothing to him, and yet the inquisitor crushed his throat.” De Sardet’s voice shook. “I could do nothing to help him.”

“I am sorry, my child. Aloysius is known for his cruelty.” Petrus lowered his voice. “I would not speak of it here. I am afraid that the Ordo Luminis has eyes and ears everywhere, and a great deal of power and influence in the city.”

“What do you think of the burnings?” Vasco prodded him. “Do you support what they did?”

“I bear no love for the natives’ false gods; they are demons, leading these people astray,” said Petrus. “But I am a missionary, first and foremost, and my hopes are to lead the native people to the Light, so they can know the grace of the Illuminated. We will not do that through violence and fear.”

“I am no friend of Aloysius, nor of the Ordo Luminis,” said Petrus.

“That’s good, because he’s no friend of ours,” Kurt spoke up. “We’re lucky Green Blood paid attention during her studies.”

“I’m the legate of the Congregation,” de Sardet protested. “I don’t think that he would have hurt me, despite his threats.”

Petrus felt his fingernails dig into his palm; he had always despised Aloysius and his violent fanaticism, but hearing that he had threatened Alexandra de Sardet made him viscerally angry.

“I don’t think he’d have cared if you were a diplomat if you hadn’t passed his little test,” said Kurt. “He was itching for violence, looking for an excuse. I’ve seen men like that before. He enjoys hurting people.”

“That is an accurate assessment of Aloysius’s character,” Petrus said aloud. “I am very sorry he was your first impression of San Matheus. Had I known you were coming, I would have arranged to greet you at your embassy.”

“I didn’t know that anyone would want to greet me,” said de Sardet. “I’m afraid I’m new to being a legate; I’m unfamiliar with the proper diplomatic protocol.”

“All the more reason we should travel together,” Petrus said with a smile. “I have been a diplomat for nearly forty years, and while the customs of the Congregation may vary slightly from those of Theleme, my service in your nation allowed me to familiarize myself with them. Perhaps I can be of help.”

“You’re very obliging,” said Kurt, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I am glad to help in any way that I can,” Petrus replied. “I am, after all, Theleme’s ambassador to the Merchant Congregation, and as such am charged with fostering good relations between our nations.” He smiled. “And perhaps I have fond memories of the young girl I saw in Serene, all those years ago. As you know, the clergy of Theleme are married to the Enlightened; I enjoyed the time I spent trying to teach you, and am glad that you have chosen to use your gift.”

De Sardet smiled. “I will be happy to have you in our party, Father.”

He gestured to the marble staircase. “Then shall we? Cornelia will not be pleased if you keep her waiting.”

They ascended to the throne room, where de Sardet introduced herself. Cornelia responded pleasantly, although Petrus saw her glance at him briefly, raising her eyebrows before looking back to de Sardet.

“Your faith and your diplomatic skills honor you,” Cornelia told de Sardet, speaking of her encounter with Aloysius; apparently, the news of their encounter had preceded de Sardet.

 _I wonder if Aloysius himself told her, or if it was one of his men._ Petrus could imagine Aloysius storming into the governor’s throne room, speaking to the Mother Cardinal about the new legate. _He will not be happy. He is suspicious of the natives, and Alexandra resembles her mother so greatly that he will surely disapprove of her._ Petrus resolved to keep his ears open. _Cornelia knows the truth, but as far as I know, no one else in this city does…and it will remain that way so long as I have any say in the matter._ He had enough blackmail material saved up on most of his fellow courtiers to silence any one of them; he had planned on using it in his quest for a cardinal’s hat, but would use it to help Arelwin’s daughter without question.

Cornelia went on, telling de Sardet about their suspicions of the malichor being caused by a demon-worshipping cult among the natives. Petrus could see her doubt, but hoped he could make her understand; despite all his political concerns, he was also a man of faith.

The men beside her were not, he could see: Kurt’s ever-severe expression revealed little, but let out a soft scoffing noise as Cornelia spoke of demons, while Vasco was more open in his disdain. “What a fortuitous coincidence,” he muttered as Cornelia explained her concerns. “A practical excuse for sending the inquisition out to set the island ablaze!”

Petrus spoke up, defending her. “I have begun investigations, and can confirm a demon is certainly active in the area.” He had returned from that expedition only to learn that the Congregation’s new governor and legate had made landfall on the island. _Had I not been busy with my investigations, I would have met them in New Serene._ He was glad that he had not missed de Sardet’s arrival in San Matheus.

Cornelia asked for the Congregation’s help in investigating, explaining how secretive the population was, and how resistant to their attempts at questioning. But Petrus noticed that de Sardet’s smile faded as Cornelia spoke of destroying the natives’ cult, and her friendliness faded to a more formal tone as she said, “Be certain that your message will be transmitted, Mother Cardinal. I look forward to our next encounter.”

As she turned to go, Cornelia called out, “Father Petrus? A word, if you will.”

Petrus turned to de Sardet. “I hope you will excuse me. Please do not leave without me!”

“We are going to spend the night in the legate’s house here,” she said. “I know you must have quarters in the palace, but would you care to join us there? We will save supper for your return.”

“I would be glad to do so,” Petrus said. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

“Father Petrus, in my private office, if you would,” said Cornelia, rising from her throne.

He followed her there. “I see you’ve wasted no time in meeting the new legate,” she said, her voice laden with unspoken meaning.

 _Damn her,_ he thought. Cornelia knew the truth about Alexandra de Sardet’s heritage, and about what she meant to Petrus. Twenty years ago in Serene, she had been the ear of the Enlightened, while Petrus had been an attaché to Theleme’s ambassador to the Congregation. _It was the anniversary of Arelwin’s death._ One night, guilt-ridden and struggling with his secret, Petrus had confided in Cornelia; they had been friends and rivals throughout their time at the embassy, each ambitious and self-serving, but the remnants of that friendship combined with Cornelia’s position and a certain amount of drunkenness on his own behalf had led him to confide in her.

“I intend to accompany her back to New Serene.”

“And around the island, no doubt.”

“If she permits,” Petrus replied. “The rest of the diplomatic delegation can arrive whenever you wish.”

“Does she know the truth, do you think? From what I’ve seen, I certainly doubt it.”

Petrus didn’t reply.

“Come now,” Cornelia said. “Do you intend to tell her? I hope so. On this island, she will certainly figure it out eventually; if she placated Aloysius, she must be both clever and charming.” She smiled. “She seems sincere enough, though so young! A bright-eyed child. I doubt either of us were ever that young.”

Petrus thought of Arelwin. _She is Arelwin’s age, when we first met. They look so much alike._ His heart ached. “I will tell her,” he said, “in time.”

“Time?”

“She hardly knows me,” he snapped. “What do you think I should say to her? ‘Child, your life has been a lie, you have been deceived by all those you call family, and you serve those who murdered your true family?’ How do you think the Prince d’Orsay would react if he learned that the ambassador from Theleme had revealed those truths?”

“You don’t care about the Prince d’Orsay’s opinions,” Cornelia replied. “You’re afraid.”

“Of what, pray? Since you seem to know me better than I know myself.” It was more snappish than he usually allowed himself to be, and he grimaced; he was a bishop, Cornelia a cardinal, and it was entirely inappropriate for him to be so insubordinate. “My apologies, Your Eminence,” he began, but Cornelia waved him off.

“Tell her,” she said. “This is a secret you shouldn’t keep. Not from her.”

“You won’t tell her.” It was half-question, half-plea.

“No. Not now, at least. It isn’t my place.” Cornelia sighed. “Good luck on your mission, Your Excellency. Try to persuade the legate to support us. I could tell she was unconvinced by my talk of native cults and demons.”

“She saw Aloysius burn one of those demons and strangle a native with his bare hands,” Petrus replied. “I cannot say I know her, but she was clearly appalled at having witnessed a murder.”

“Is executing a convicted heretic truly murder?”

“If we executed every heretic on this island, we would be left to rule over a pile of bones,” Petrus replied. “Conversion, not execution, should be our goal. That man’s soul could have been turned to the Light; instead, Aloysius condemned him to the Shadow.”

“As always, you have a way with words,” Cornelia replied. “You know I have no love for Aloysius or the Ordo Luminis. They do necessary work, but Aloysius is often too forceful in his beliefs. I am glad the legate managed to dissuade him, but I am convinced he would have attacked her had she not answered to his satisfaction…and a diplomatic incident with the Congregation is hardly the way I’d like to begin our relationship with the new governor, particularly when that governor is the only son and heir of the Prince d’Orsay.”

“Hopefully my presence will keep Aloysius at bay,” Petrus said.

“I hope your friendship with the new legate will help Theleme, as well as yourself. You always did have a talent for turning every situation to advantage, both for yourself and for our people.”

“Where you always had a talent for ingratiating yourself with everyone,” Petrus replied. “Even Aloysius respects you, even if he thinks you do not go far enough.”

“You feel the same way, albeit in the opposite direction,” Cornelia replied. “That is the key to being governor: it is a difficult balance to keep.”

“May you always walk in the Light.”

“And you as well. I hope this mission will bring you some measure of happiness…and of peace.” Cornelia smiled. “If nothing else, it will keep you out of my hair here. You won’t be able to intrigue against me while you’re in New Serene.”

“Which is undoubtedly why you granted my request to become the ambassador in the first place.”

“That, and because I knew you wouldn’t rest until you had the post. Once you heard that the Prince d’Orsay was sending his niece to be the legate, I knew that you would stop at nothing to gain that position. I think you wanted it even more than your cardinal’s hat.”

Cornelia rose from her desk, making a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go. Join your legate. Fulfill the promise you made to her mother.”

“Cornelia…” Petrus hesitated. “Not a word to her.”

“If you swear you’ll tell her.”

“I will. I swear it on the Enlightened.” Petrus paused; the next words were difficult, but necessary. “Thank you. For giving me this chance to make things right.”

“You’re welcome.” Cornelia inclined her head, and Petrus wondered if she was making a note of the favor; he owed her for it, and she knew it.

 _How long until she uses this against me?_ He hoped she would not stoop so low as to involve de Sardet, but he didn’t trust Cornelia. _No one gets to become a cardinal without getting their hands dirty, and Cornelia’s are as stained as any._ His own hands were hardly clean, but Petrus had long ago learned to live with that.

He bowed once more and left the room. _This is my chance to make things right._


	49. Inquisition

Siora paced back and forth, growing impatient as the hours wore on. _When will they return? We have to speak._ It had been only a few hours since a trio of _cengeden_ _anedas_ , storm warriors of Vedleug, had come to the embassy.

The embassy’s secretary, a timid man, had met with them. “We must see the _on ol menawi_ ,” one said; there were two men and a woman, and he was the older of the two men, with a receding hairline and a hawk-like nose.

The secretary had been flustered. “Excuse me?”

“Do not try to lie to us, _renaigse_ ,” growled the leader, half-shouting his words; they were loud enough that Siora had heard him from down the hall, and decided to investigate. “We know she is here. The _on ol menawi_ of the _lugeid blau_.” He moved forward, and the secretary let out a yelp of fear, which made the other two warriors laugh.

“I do not know your language,” the secretary stammered. “I – I’m sorry, but I don’t know what that is. _On_ – _on el mawani_ —” His tongue tripped over the words, mangling them.

“Do not lie to us! You know who we want,” said the woman. “She is one of your people, but looks like us.”

“We heard how she has helped others,” added the second man, who looked as if he might have been the son of the first. “The merchants who trade in your village speak of receiving her aid, and word has come from Vedrhais, that she helped heal their wounded after the battle and convinced the lions to surrender both Queen Bladnid’s body and those they took prisoners.”

“The lions never return their prisoners,” the woman agreed. “Those they take vanish forever.”

“She has helped them; we would call upon her aid now.”

The embassy’s secretary finally seemed to realize who they were asking about. “Legate de Sardet is in the city, but she is not here. She has gone to pay her respects to the Mother Cardinal. If you would like to wait here for her…”

“In this city? No. We are not safe here.”

“The embassy is the territory of the Merchant Congregation. You have nothing to fear.”

“We will not stay. Do you not know what they have done today? If the inquisitors find us, they will burn us, as they have so many others. Today, an innocent man perished, a novice warrior who had the misfortune of trying to defend a guardian when the mind-shakers came to take it.”

Siora didn’t know what they were talking about, but it sent a chill down her spine. _What have they done to our guardian?_ She had heard talk of the Bridge Alliance capturing guardians and making them vanish, as they had done with so many of their people, especially the _on ol menawi_ , but she had never heard of the priests of Theleme doing the same. _They call our guardians demons, and accuse us of great evils when we have done nothing to them. All we have wanted is to live._

The villages of Vedleug and Vedrhais were friendly, if only because Bladnid and Derdre had been united in their hatred for the _renaigse_ ; they had spoken of an alliance against the _renaigse_ , but nothing had ever come to fruition. _Still, they will not attack me, and I will be able to relay their message better than this_ renaigse _._

Siora had interrupted the meeting then, just as the embassy secretary was fetching parchment and quill to write a note for de Sardet. “If you will tell me what you wish to say to the legate, I will give her your message,” the man was saying when Siora stepped into the room, but Derdre’s warriors turned to Siora as she entered.

“Who are you?” one asked, switching from the _renaigse_ language, which de Sardet had told her was called Gacan, to Yecht Fradi.

“I am Siora, daughter of Bladnid, daughter of Meb, the _doneigad_ of the _gais rad_. I am with the _on ol menawi_ ; her name is Alexandra de Sardet, and she is the legate of the _lugeid blau_ and a _carants_ of Vedrhais.”

“I am Odran, son of Donal, son of Marr, a _cengeden anedas_ of Vedleug,” the first man said. “How does a _renaigse_ become a _carants_ of Vedrhais?”

“By doing what you have said.” Siora detailed everything that de Sardet had done: her offer of help in negotiating a cease-fire; her act of self-defense against the Bridge Alliance’s soldiers, and her help on the battlefield once the fighting was done; most of all, her help retrieving Bladnid’s body, and helping to ensure she was properly buried despite the missionaries who would have prevented them. “She did not know me, nor any of my clan, but she did everything she could to help us.”

“She is _on ol menawi_. She understands the importance of returning the fallen to the earth.”

Siora thought of how little de Sardet seemed to understand about being _on ol menawi_ , and her confusion about the bond. _I hope to teach her, but that will take time._ Nor did she wish to speak to Derdre’s warriors about that. Instead, she said, “I am surprised that Derdre would ask for help from the _renaigse_.” It had been one of the sticking points in any potential alliance between Vedleug and Vedrhais: Bladnid had believed that they should seek allies wherever they could, while Derdre had hated all the _renaigse_ equally.

_She would throw them all back into the ocean, burn their cities to the ground, and let_ en on mil frichtimen _reclaim the earth._ Eseld had agreed with her, but both Bladnid and Siora had hoped that they might make some common cause with at least one of the clans of _renaigse_ , believing that the enemy of their enemy might at least prove an ally.

“We would not ask if she was not _on ol menawi_ ,” said Odran.

“Our need is dire,” said one of his companions, a golden-haired woman whose face was lined with worry. “They have taken our people.” She looked to Siora. “I am Neyva, daughter of Muiri, daughter of Orlaith, and that is Bel, son of Odran, son of Donal. They have taken Bel’s mother, Odran’s wife, as they took my brother.”

“The _on ol menawi_ got your people back from the lions,” said Bel. “If she did that, then maybe she can find ours.”

“Derdre did not want us to seek her aid,” said Odran. Fury blazed in his eyes. “Derdre has not lost anyone she loved.”

“She has lost her people,” Neyva argued. “That is why she let us come.”

“Will she help us?” The desperation in Bel’s eyes was palpable, reminding Siora of her grief for her own mother, as well as of those in her clan who had simply disappeared.

_Sorcha,_ she thought, pained, thinking of the girl who’d been her first lover. _We studied to become_ doneigada _together. We shared our lessons and then our kisses, and spoke our names to each other in the night, beneath the stars, when we snuck off to share more. She would say my name, then hers, and laugh. Sorcha and Siora._ They had known then that they were not each other’s _minundhanem_ ; they had shared a desire for pleasure, not for a lifetime together. _We learned that you can share someone’s body without sharing their mind…a lesson_ Matir _said everyone learns of their first love. We were not_ minundhanem _, but we loved each other._

That had made it all the more difficult for Siora when Sorcha had been taken. _She must be dead, but I do not know. I may never know._ “I am sorry, Odran,” she said. “I too have lost those I cared for…not only my mother, in battle, but my father…others I have loved. Do you think the lions took them?”

“Not the lions,” Odran growled. “The red suns. We are far from the lions’ territory, but the red suns have taken to following their path. They are stealing our people…though unlike the lions, they take us all, not just the _on ol menawi_.”

“ _Matir_ was not _on ol menawi_ ,” said Bel. “She never bonded. Neither had Neyva’s brother. They were hunters, not _doneigada_.”

“Will she help? This _renaigse on ol menawi_?”

“Yes,” Siora said without thinking, then had to amend her words. “I believe she will. She is always eager to help. When I asked for her aid, she was willing to do everything I asked, even when it meant she would be in danger. We were strangers, and yet she did all she could.”

“She is _on ol menawi_ ,” said Neyva. “She understands what it is to give back.”

“I know she has duties to her own people, but I will tell her what you have said.”

“It is not safe for us to stay in this village,” said Odran. “We feared even coming inside the gate. They have taken a guardian, and the guards were saying that they planned to burn it, as they have burned our people.”

“No,” Siora breathed, horrified. “How could they do such a thing?” She stared at them. “Derdre would help defend her guardians—”

“It was not our guardian who was taken,” said Neyva. “The mind-shakers attacked Wenshaveye. You know that village is peaceful, and not known for their warriors. Many they took were young, and not fully trained, but they will burn them despite their youth.”

“If we are found here, they will burn us too,” said Odran. “The _on ol menawi_ may protect you, but it is not safe for us. We are enemies of the red suns. There is a clearing outside the city, not far from here. Tell the _on ol menawi_ to find us there.” He detailed directions on how to find it, hidden down a narrow rock passage on the hillside. “We will stay there for three days, but please tell her to come as soon as she can.”

“I will,” Siora promised. Only then did she remember the secretary, who was staring at them in bewilderment, and switched back to Gacan. “These people seek the help of the legate,” she said. “They have lost those dear to them, and believe she can help. I will tell her.”

But hours passed as she waited for de Sardet, and she grew anxious and tired of waiting. Siora took to waiting in the entrance hall, wondering what could be taking so long. _She did say it would be a long time._ Apparently, _renaigse_ customs could be tedious.

When the door opened, she blurted with relief, “ _Carants_ ,” only to feel as if her heart had shuddered to a halt: it was not her friend, but an old man in the silver armor of the red suns. He was tall, though not as tall as Kurt, and lacked the broad-shouldered, muscular build that made Kurt so imposing.

He terrified Siora nonetheless. _Where are my_ caranten _? What has happened? Why is a mind-shaker coming to her house?_ For a moment, she almost attacked him out of sheer panic, but then realized that he was staring at her with equal confusion, and froze.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing here, mind-shaker?”

“I am here at Legate de Sardet’s invitation,” he replied, with a great deal more composure than Siora. “May I ask your name? I did not see you with her in the throne room when she introduced herself to the Mother Cardinal.”

“She told me to stay here,” Siora said uncertainly. “She said the city was not safe.” She thought of the mind-shakers who had come to Vedrhais. “My clan is not at war with yours; we fight the lions, and have sought your help. But she was not sure if your people would know the difference.”

“On a day such as today, that was likely wise,” the man replied; he had a neatly pointed beard, which he stroked thoughtfully. “She may not have a great deal of experience, but she certainly has wisdom.”

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“My name is Bishop Petrus,” he replied. “I am a member of one of the missionary orders, and the ambassador from Theleme to the Congregation of Merchants. May I ask your name?”

“Siora,” she offered reluctantly. “Daughter of Bladnid, daughter of Meb, _doneigad_ of the _gais rad_.” She did not translate the phrase, as she usually did; it was a courtesy she did not wish to give him.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Siora. Has Legate de Sardet returned?”

“No. I am worried.”

“I would not be,” said Petrus. “She has already talked down one inquisitor, and if she can successfully defend herself against Aloysius, she has nothing to fear from anyone else in this city.”

Even as he spoke, the door opened once more; this time, it was de Sardet, accompanied by Kurt and Vasco. “Father Petrus!” she said, seeing him there. “I’m surprised you reached the embassy before we did.”

Kurt looked amused. “Well, you were the one who insisted on stopping to see that merchant.”

“He had such a selection of rings and necklaces. The merchants in New Serene don’t have half the magical gear.”

“I didn’t like the merchant,” Vasco said. “Something about his manner…and his voice. ‘Come closer, don’t hesitate,’” he said, mimicking the man.

“Or that he could cry his wares despite all the horrors in that square?” Kurt suggested. “I didn’t like that. Suggests things like that happen here often enough that a burning doesn’t faze him.”

“Burning?” Siora asked, remembering what Odran had said.

“Yes,” de Sardet said, looking troubled. “I’m glad you didn’t come with us, Siora, and I don’t want you to leave the house unaccompanied while we’re here.”

“I don’t want either of you leaving this house without me, Green Blood,” Kurt spoke up. “You out-talked Aloysius today, but you might not always be so lucky.” His eyes went to her bond-mark. “I don’t want any of those inquisitors seeing how much you look like a native and thinking you need to be converted.”

“What happened?” Siora asked.

“When we arrived in the town square…the Place of Punishment, they call it…there was a great fire,” said de Sardet. “In Serene, such fires were used to burn the bodies of the poor after they’d died of the malichor…but here, they burn the living.”

“They do that everywhere in Theleme,” Kurt said, his voice harsh. Siora looked to the _cengots_ ; his arms were folded across his chest, his face set in an expression of a standoffish sort of hostility.

_At first, I thought he was always angry, but then I realized he only wished to look stern._ Kurt wore that expression like Derdre’s storm warriors wore their face-paint, as a way to intimidate their enemies.

Now, though, there was genuine anger beneath. “They burn so-called heretics,” said Kurt, “men and women whose only crime is to believe something other than what the priests say they ought – people who owned the wrong book, or said the wrong thing, or dared to suggest something that went against what some powerful bishop or cardinal thought was true. Sometimes, their only crime was having offended a neighbor who was willing to perjure themselves to get revenge.”

“Excuse me,” Petrus interrupted. “I find the Ordo Luminis’s burnings as distasteful as you, but—”

“Distasteful? I hate them,” Kurt interrupted. “No man should be burned alive for thinking the wrong thing.”

“I agree with Kurt,” said Vasco. “The Ordo Luminis has long been known for targeting Nauts. Theleme has been happy to sign a contract with our people, but the Ordo Luminis says our sea-magic must be demonic in nature, and that worshiping a god of the sea instead of the Illuminated is itself heresy. Theleme’s need for us has usually kept the inquisitors from pursuing matters further, but plenty of your peers would be happy to see me burn at the stake, Father.” He arched an eyebrow. “Would you?”

“Certainly not,” Petrus said. “I am appalled by the Ordo Luminis’s methods. Rest assured that I am in favor of peaceful conversion.”

“The Ordo Luminis had captured a _nadaig_ ,” de Sardet told Siora. “It was chained in the square, and when we arrived, it had already been set aflame.” She shuddered. “Its screams were terrible, and the inquisitor…he _delighted_ in them.”

“He had captives, natives he forced to watch the burning…to convince them that their gods were powerless, and that they should convert,” she said. “One was little more than a boy…a man younger than you or I. Aloysius forced him to his knees, demanded he convert.”

“He refused, and that refusal enraged Aloysius. He murdered him…crushed his throat with gauntleted hands…and I could do nothing to help.”

“The square was full of inquisitors, Green Blood,” Kurt said quietly. “And you are a diplomat. You could not start a war with Theleme.”

“We would have died,” Vasco agreed. “Three of us against two dozen inquisitors in full armor…not to mention the palace guards, the members of the Red Sun Regiment on patrol in that square, and the ordinary citizens who would undoubtedly have taken offense. I know you wanted to help, but I appreciate that you did not try.”

“I’m so sorry, Siora,” de Sardet said. “But I’m glad that we didn’t take you. Aloysius was very hostile toward me.” Her hand brushed against her bond-mark. “He mistrusted me because I resemble your people so closely. I was able to rely on my diplomatic status to keep him from attacking, but only just.”

“That, and your knowledge of theology,” said Vasco. “I must admit, I am impressed you know so much about their god of light.”

“I would hardly be a very good diplomat if I did not,” de Sardet answered.

“While you were gone, three of the _cengeden anedas_ came,” said Siora. “Storm warriors from Vedleug. They want your help, but would not stay.” She glanced at Petrus, reluctant to say more.

“You can speak freely in front of him,” said de Sardet. “Father Petrus will be joining us for our journey to New Serene.” She looked to him. “I trust that you will refrain from telling anyone else anything you happen to hear in this house?”

“You are altogether too trusting of someone you have just met, my child,” Petrus replied, but there was no threat in his tone; instead, Siora was surprised to hear how affectionate he sounded, as if de Sardet truly was his child. “But I swear by the Enlightened, I will not reveal any of your secrets, and will do all I can to help you.”

“Why?” Siora asked. “If you have just met, why are you so…helpful?” That drew a smile from Vasco, but she thought she saw agreement in Kurt’s eyes.

“I am the ambassador to the Congregation,” Petrus replied. “It is my duty to do everything I can to foster good relations between our nations…and I have often found that it is in the best interests of diplomats to befriend each other.”

Siora’s eyes narrowed; it seemed to her that the mind-shaker was hiding something. “That is not all,” she said.

“No, it is not,” Petrus agreed. “I remember Lady de Sardet from when she was a child. I served at her uncle’s court in Serene for many years, and did what I could to encourage her talent for magic.” He smiled, and again, Siora was struck by how sincere his affection seemed. “To learn that she has pursued that gift…and that she has become a diplomat in her own right…well, it feels as if those early lessons were not entirely for naught.”

“You must help Derdre’s people,” Siora said. She shot an anxious glance at Petrus. “They say that the mind-shakers have stolen their people. Not the _on ol menawi_ , as the lions do, but ordinary villagers. Two hunters have disappeared most recently, but many have been taken.”

She detailed everything that Odran, Neyva, and Bel had told them, and de Sardet did not disappoint her. “It is too late tonight, but we will go and see them first thing in the morning.”

“Are you certain?” Petrus asked. “I do not like this. It may be an ambush. It is well-known that the people of Queen Derdre’s village are hostile toward our people, and I believe that their village is the center of a demon-worshiping cult.”

Vasco snorted, but Kurt looked to Siora. “What do you think, pretty twig? I don’t like the thought of heading into an ambush, but I don’t think you would have told us if you thought they were lying.”

“They spoke from the heart,” Siora answered. “I was surprised that they would ask for help – the mind-shaker is right, Derdre’s people do not like _renaigse_ – but these _cengeden anedas_ are not lying about having lost those they love.” She looked to de Sardet. “One who came here was little more than a boy. His mother is among the missing.”

“We’ll go tomorrow morning,” de Sardet decided. She looked to Petrus. “Although I’m afraid I should ask you to remain behind. If I bring a bishop of Theleme with me, clad in ceremonial armor, I am sure they will take it as a betrayal. Siora, Kurt, and Vasco will come with me; that should be more than enough to keep me safe.”

Petrus’s mouth set in a thin line. “If you feel it best,” he said.

“Don’t you think it will be?”

“I think that if you are potentially heading into an ambush, you should bring as many people as you can,” he answered. “I am very skilled in magic, and can hold my own in a fight.”

“So can she,” Vasco said. “I’ve seen her fight, Father. You’re not the only one who can hold your own.”

“I had a good teacher,” said de Sardet, smiling at Kurt.

“I can’t take credit for the magic,” he answered.


	50. Petrus's Proposition

The next day, they set off for the woods. Kurt was wary of an ambush, but Siora spent much of the walk reassuring him that they had nothing to fear.

“The _cengeden anedas_ are fierce, but they are honorable.”

De Sardet was not reassured when they found the storm warriors standing over the body of an inquisitor, but they spoke of needing to find out what had happened to their loved ones, and of a secret camp that they had learned of. As they asked her to help, she hesitated. _They tortured this man to death. He may have been an inquisitor, but he did not deserve to die that way._ The body was badly maimed: they had used fire against him, and numerous small burns covered his broken body. One eye had been put out.

“This red sun was mocking us,” the oldest warrior, Odran, said. “He said they would burn us like the others! He had killed some of my brothers, so I killed him.”

“If what you say is true, this cannot be allowed to continue,” de Sardet agreed. While de Sardet was appalled by the murder of the inquisitor, she could not help but remember the look on Aloysius’s face as his hands had closed about a young man’s throat. _I will investigate, and discover the truth._

“We’ll go to his home,” she said as they headed back into town. “We have to investigate.”

“Burglary?” Vasco asked. “You know the relations between the Nauts and Theleme are strained as it is. Your diplomatic immunity will protect you, but if I’m caught there, well…they’ll put me on the pyre next to that _nadaig_.” His tone was wry, but de Sardet could see his worry.

“If the suns find me there, they’ll burn me, too!” Siora said in a small voice.

“I won’t take either of you,” de Sardet said. “In fact, if Bishop Petrus will agree, he should accompany me.”

“I’m going with you, Green Blood,” Kurt insisted. “I’m your guard; if we’re caught, I’ll say I was following your orders.”

“Will that protect you? The risk should be mine.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Once you’ve searched his house, come right back to the embassy,” Vasco told her. “We’ll worry until you do.”

Petrus had been very worried, and was clearly relieved when they returned. He was less pleased when she told him of the dead inquisitor, and showed him the key and letter that the natives had provided.

“Claudius,” Petrus said, frowning. “I know the name. He is…was…one of Aloysius’s closest associates. A man whose belief was strong, rigid, and utterly unyielding. He could be unpleasant, but I do not believe he deserved to be tortured to death.”

“How many men did he burn?” Kurt asked bluntly. “Women? Children?”

“The inquisitors do not burn children.”

“No,” Vasco said tautly, “they choke them to death, as we saw yesterday.”

“Please,” de Sardet intervened. “I do not believe that anyone deserves to be tortured to death…but I also know that the natives believe that many of their own are being tortured and killed by the inquisitors.” She looked to Petrus. “We need to enter his house to look for further evidence. I would not bring Siora or Vasco with me, but would you be willing to come? Kurt and I will go if you do not.”

She saw Petrus frown, and wondered if she had pushed him too far. “I know that it is not precisely lawful, but we must learn the truth,” she said. “If you would not come with me, all I ask is that you say nothing to anyone else…as you promised me yesterday.” 

De Sardet thought that he would certainly refuse to accompany her. _He may remember me from my childhood, but it has been more than fifteen years since our last meeting; he cannot be that fond of me._

To her surprise, Petrus agreed. “I will come with you, if only to help avert scandal,” he said. “While I am not averse to learning more information about my political rivals, going through a dead man’s possessions seems rather macabre.”

“So you’d prefer to gather information when they’re still alive? Seems backwards to me,” said Kurt. “You’d hesitate to take information from someone when it can’t hurt them, but would be glad to use it if they’re still alive.”

“Information about your enemies does tend to be more useful when they’re alive. Once dead, they’re rarely a danger,” Petrus answered as they made their way through the streets of San Matheus. His presence was indeed useful: he led them directly to the address, and de Sardet thought that the sight of a bishop entering the inquisitor’s residence drew less attention than she and Kurt would have on their own.

Once inside, they began to go through the dead man’s letters, searching through drawers and opening books to see if anything had been hidden inside.

“I have no qualms about rummaging through the secrets of the living, but the dead, on the other hand…I feel like I am desecrating a tomb!” Petrus exclaimed.

“You’re fond of prying into other people’s secrets?” Kurt asked.

“My son, you do not get to be a bishop without knowing a number of secrets,” Petrus replied. “No one in Theleme advances through the clergy without having learned a great deal of information about their peers…and their betters.”

“Hardly seems honorable,” said Kurt.

“Neither does this, yet you are helping,” Petrus shot back.

“Seems honorable enough to me,” Kurt retorted. “We’re trying to stop some inquisitors from burning people alive. That’s more honorable than digging up dirt on people you don’t like so you can blackmail them into a promotion.”

“Blackmail is such a crass word,” Petrus replied. “Information is influence…and power,” he said, with a glance at de Sardet. “Never forget that, my child. Secrets are often far more valuable than gold.”

“Like this one,” said de Sardet, holding up a letter from an Inquisitor Honorius, referring to a conversion camp. “There’s more information inside their office,” she said. They also found another key, which she pocketed.

Slipping out, she hoped they’d gone unnoticed – but three inquisitors awaited them outside. Her heart sank until Petrus spoke up, telling them that she was with him. “To be truthful, my friend is only accompanying me. I am the one who was visiting this home, precisely because I was hoping to find out where Father Claudius might be. I was sent by the Mother Cardinal, of course…”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to learn how you’ve been treating the representative of one of her allies,” de Sardet spoke up. “Shall we go see her now?”

It was a calculated bluff, and her heart was pounding as the inquisitor backed down. “That won’t be necessary…but know that I am keeping an eye on you!”

“We’d better go,” said Kurt. “That won’t fool them forever. We’d best be quick about this.”

“Is it a good idea for you to accompany us to the inquisitors’ offices?” de Sardet asked Petrus.

“Perhaps not,” Petrus replied, “but I would not leave you alone there. If you’re discovered, it will be a major diplomatic incident…and all inquisitors are trained in magic.”

As it turned out, they were not discovered, but they did discover evidence for the conversion camp, as well as news of a patrol. _This may well help them to rescue any who are still alive._ De Sardet stopped only to leave Petrus at the embassy, retrieving Siora and Vasco for the meeting with the _cengeden anedas_ …and was promptly confronted by a group of inquisitors who accused her of betrayal.

They attacked, and she fought back; she had no choice. It was a quick, vicious fight: she saw Kurt cut down one of the inquisitors with a blow that cleaved armor and flesh alike, and saw Vasco shoot another, even while Siora healed one of the natives who’d gone down with a blast of shadow to the chest.

When the fighting was done, the inquisitors lay dead, and everyone else was alive and unharmed. She thanked the natives, who promised to make the bodies disappear, and swore they would tell no one save their queen, Derdre.

“She will not stand for this,” said Odran. He swore to liberate the camp, and suggested that Derdre might even send word to de Sardet when it came time to do so.

Siora walked back to San Matheus happily, but de Sardet worried about what she would tell Petrus. _He helped me, and now half a dozen inquisitors are dead._

But Petrus seemed as troubled as she was by the discovery of a conversion camp. “Cornelia cannot be aware of this,” he said. “She would not countenance kidnapping natives.”

“Even to save their souls?” Vasco asked. “It often seems to me that the inquisitors are more concerned with souls than lives; they are willing to kill in the name of salvation.”

“And my people are willing to kill to defend themselves,” Siora said.

“As we did,” said de Sardet. “They must have followed us from the city.”

Her guilt must have shone through in her voice, because Kurt spoke up. “They attacked first. You were not to blame.”

“I wish we had not had to kill them.” De Sardet frowned. “Killing wild animals upon the road is one thing, but…” Truth be told, she hadn’t even been happy about having to kill the wounded _nadaig_ in Serene, even though it had threatened Constantin’s life and would undoubtedly have rampaged through the city if she hadn’t stopped it. _People are worse._ Like the bandits who’d attacked them on the roads or the corrupt Coin Guard who’d chosen to die rather than face arrest, the inquisitors had attacked them, but it didn’t make her feel much better.

“I will pray for their souls, but if you acted in self-defense, the Enlightened will not judge you for it,” said Petrus. “You are the legate of the Congregation, protected by diplomatic immunity; they should never have attempted to lay hands on you.”

“You said you do not believe that the Mother Cardinal is aware of their camp. Do you intend to tell her?”

“I do not see how I could do so without informing her of what has transpired,” said Petrus, frowning, “and I cannot do that without informing her of your role in their deaths, which I would not do. I am sure that the inquisitors we saw outside of Claudius’s home will have told the Mother Cardinal we were there; as I was with you, I am certain she will ascribe the motives for that burglary to me, and that no guilt for their deaths will fall upon either of us, but I do not think it wise for us to be further involved with the Ordo Luminis at this point. Let these native warriors inform their own queen; hopefully, they will liberate their own, and we will need to have nothing more to do with it.”

Siora glared at him. “You would wash your hands of this, man of the light? Your people have been kidnapping mine, and you say it is none of your concern?”

“I say that it would be dangerous for Legate de Sardet to do more now,” said Petrus. “There is little Cornelia can do without more evidence; a few letters may not be enough to let us move against them. The Ordo Luminis is very powerful, both on Teer Fradee and the continent. She has no love for their order, but she cannot risk their wrath without having to fear recall…or perhaps worse, depending on what they know of her.”

“What they know of her? What, does she have some dirty little secret you’ve heard about?” Kurt asked.

“We all have our secrets,” Petrus replied, “the powerful most of all. The most successful of our nobility are the ones who’ve buried their own secrets most deeply, and who know how to best leverage the secrets of others they’ve uncovered.”

De Sardet thought of her own uncle, the most fearsome man in the Congregation, renowned throughout Gacane for his cool-headed ruthlessness and political acumen. “That is true,” she admitted.

“I have an idea that I wish to present to you. I’ve known the Mother Cardinal for quite some time. She is a formidable woman, and diplomatically skilled. I fear your cousin may be a little defenseless when dealing with her, and would like to give him a few weapons.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Diplomacy is not only a matter of formal encounters and choreographed etiquette,” Petrus answered. “If we had the means to action more personal leverage, the Mother Cardinal could not manipulate your cousin.”

“How could we ever find anything of that sort?”

“Everyone has nasty little secrets, my child. It’s our task to discover Cornelia’s.”

De Sardet thought of her uncle’s court: lies layered upon deceptions, a world where everyone said one thing and meant another, where polite smiles could mask vicious cruelty. _My mother hated those political games,_ she thought; as the sister of the Prince d’Orsay, Jeanne de Sardet had been adept at seeing through the lies, but she had loathed her brother’s court and the courtiers within. _It was not a life she wanted for me._

Nor was it a life de Sardet had enjoyed. _Neither Constantin nor I ever knew what it was to have friends, aside from each other. We could never know whether someone wanted to get close to us because of our position and status, or because they genuinely liked being around us._ A sharp ache of sorrow lanced her heart momentarily as she thought of her first love, a young man she’d thought cared for her. _He only wanted to be close to the niece of the Prince d’Orsay. He only pretended to love me._ He had deceived her, and mocked her for the deception when she’d uncovered it; it had been her first and last attempt at romance.

_I do not want to be the sort of person who could use that against someone._ Alexandra de Sardet had handled that heartache herself, and it was a secret she had never told anyone: not Kurt, not Constantin, not even her own mother. _Yet I know if anyone ever uncovered it, they would gladly use the knowledge against me._ She had been fifteen years old, deceived and manipulated, and yet there were those who would consider it a stain on her honor rather than on the man who’d used her as a pawn in his plot.

_Whatever lies in Cornelia’s past, I would not use it against her._ De Sardet knew full well the sort of scandals that had engulfed other clergy in Theleme: mistresses or kept men, bastard children, blasphemy or heresy. _I have no desire to dig up scandals from other people’s pasts. I do not want to threaten or blackmail anyone, let alone a woman I have just met._ The Mother Cardinal had seemed both friendly and reasonable, apologizing for Aloysius and complimenting her on her skill. _She has not yet threatened Constantin…and Constantin is certainly capable of defending himself._ Constantin had also grown up at his father’s court, and while he’d disdained most of the political manipulations and scheming as his father’s realm, he was hardly a complete novice.

“No,” she said. “The Mother Cardinal has done nothing to me, or to Constantin.”

“By the time she has, it will be too late. You must arm yourself with information before she does the same.”

“I have never wanted to be involved in politics. Not that way, at least.” De Sardet had greeted ambassadors and dignitaries at her uncle’s court, helped host dinner parties with her mother, and helped oversee House de Sardet’s affairs, but she’d never held a formal position within the court before her appointment as legate. “I do not wish to blackmail anyone, or threaten them with secrets, or act with cruelty.”

“Cruelty and pragmatism are very different things, my child. Do not think of it as assembling weapons to use offensively, but as a matter of self-defense.”

“I confess myself surprised. You were, after all, willing to break into Claudius’s house to uncover his secrets.”

“To save lives,” de Sardet answered. “This is different. I am sorry to disappoint you, Father, but I have no wish to intrigue against the Mother Cardinal…or anyone, for that matter.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Petrus. “I hope that your scruples will not prove a detriment to your success here…or to your cousin’s.”

“Is that a threat?” Kurt asked.

“Merely a prediction. Lady de Sardet may have scruples about investigating the Mother Cardinal, but she will have no such qualms about doing the same for Governor d’Orsay.” Petrus raised an eyebrow. “I hope that your cousin has no scandals in his own personal history that might prove humiliating.”

De Sardet thought of all of Constantin’s exploits in taverns and brothels, of his kidnapping their final day in Serene, and of all the times his own father had snarled at him about humiliating their family and making a mockery of their family name. _Whatever scandals Constantin had in Serene, his father covered up,_ she thought. _That will not be possible here._

Yet she knew Constantin had vowed to turn over a new leaf, and since their arrival, she had not heard of any late-night excursions to the brothel or destruction in the tavern. _He certainly hasn’t been kidnapped by brigands._

“I have always done my best to help my cousin,” she told Petrus, “but I hope he would understand my reluctance to involve myself with more…dubious…ventures.”

“Please, consider what I’ve said,” Petrus replied. “I speak only out of concern. Cornelia is a canny, crafty woman; she would not hesitate to do the same to you.”

“I will consider it,” de Sardet promised.

“Why are you so eager to help?” Vasco asked. “I’m no political expert, but Cornelia’s one of your own people; de Sardet and her cousin aren’t.”

Petrus glanced at de Sardet. “I must admit, I have fond memories of the legate from the time I spent in Serene.” He hesitated. “And…it may sound foolish, but there was a time when I promised your mother I would look after you.”

“You knew my mother?” de Sardet asked.

Again, Petrus hesitated, and it seemed to her that there was something he wasn’t saying. “Yes. As I told you, I spent quite a long time in the Congregation early in my career…the better part of a decade, as a matter of fact. I arrived before your birth; you must have been about eight when I left,” he said.

“I did not know you were acquainted. She never spoke of you,” de Sardet said, and felt a little foolish. “Of course, there would have been no reason for her to do so. She could hardly have known that we would meet again here. How did you come to know her?” 

“As you know, I served in the embassy, and often had reason to come to court. We met in the course of my duties.” Again, Petrus hesitated, and again, de Sardet could not help but feel he was omitting some crucial detail. “I had provided comfort to her during a trying time. Privately.”

Vasco snickered, and Petrus gave him a severe look. “I offered the comfort of the Enlightened,” he said severely. “There was nothing untoward.”

“My mother sometimes spoke to clergy from Theleme,” de Sardet remembered. “She was not a member of the luminous faith, but I know she sometimes prayed.” Jeanne de Sardet had told her daughter that she despised fanaticism, but took comfort in faith. “She could not be baptized in light, for that would have had political implications, but she did sometimes privately entertain members of the clergy.” While both House de Sardet and House d’Orsay were steadfastly neutral in the divide between those favoring the alliance with the Bridge Alliance and the alliance with Theleme, de Sardet had often thought that her uncle privately favored the tenets of the Bridge’s rationalism, while her mother had taken solace in the faith of Theleme. _Both despised fanatics of every stripe._ Her mother had shuddered at the talk of burnings and vehemently defended the right of so-called ‘heretics’ to seek sanctuary in the Congregation, while her uncle had repulsed the Bridge’s demands to drive out the missionaries from Theleme who had ministered to the poor while performing their missionary work.

“My mother had so many tragedies in her life,” said de Sardet, “she undoubtedly welcomed the counsel and comfort of a priest.” The loss of a nephew and the sister-in-law who had been her closest friend, countless miscarriages and stillbirths, the loss of a husband during a difficult pregnancy: Alexandra de Sardet knew her mother had suffered greatly, even before her diagnosis with the malichor. “I do not know if you have heard of her illness.”

“Her illness,” Petrus echoed; for a moment, he seemed lost in thought, perhaps caught in some long-ago memory, but composed himself quickly. “Yes. The malichor is a cruel disease. I am very sorry, my child. I truly believe that the secret to the malichor and its cure lies somewhere on this island. Perhaps by pursuing this cult, we can discover the truth. If the malichor is caused by a demon’s curse, we may be able to lift it.”

“Forgive me, Father, but talk of demons and curses…have you ever found a disease that was caused by a curse?” Vasco asked. “And if the malichor is caused by some curse, how do you plan on lifting it?”

“By destroying the demon, of course,” said Petrus. “Demons can be killed, or driven away. Several of Saint Matheus’s followers were known for the casting out of demons.” He looked to de Sardet. “Your business in the city seems concluded for the moment…could I persuade you to investigate this cult?”

“I’m afraid I have other business that must be attended to first,” de Sardet answered. “I have yet to pay my respects to the governor of Hikmet on my cousin’s behalf, and as I have just given my regards to the Mother Cardinal, I can hardly neglect Governor Burhan. It would be a grave insult if I delayed greeting one governor after having met the other.”

“How did you decide on which of them to visit first?”

“The Mother Cardinal wrote to Constantin before Governor Burhan,” de Sardet answered. “I plan on stopping briefly in New Serene to speak with Constantin before departing for Hikmet. I can introduce you then.” She paused. “Will other diplomats be accompanying you? I would not depart the city before they are ready, but I would prefer not to delay any further.”

“The others will follow shortly,” said Petrus. “There has been some political infighting regarding the selection of the rest of the delegation, but I told Cornelia that it would not prove to be a problem; I can manage on my own until they are ready to join me in New Serene.”

He paused. “The only problem may be that Theleme’s embassy in the city will not be ready to receive me; the previous ambassador was recalled shortly before Lady de Morange stepped down, and it has been some time since the embassy has been properly staffed. From what I understand, it will need a great deal of renovation before it is ready for occupation.”

“I’m sure that Constantin can find rooms for you at the palace,” said de Sardet, “or if he cannot, my own home in New Serene has plenty of guest bedrooms.”

“That butler of yours will be glad to have a proper noble to dote on,” Kurt spoke up.

“Neither Kurt nor I are fine enough for his taste,” said Vasco. “The man’s quite the snob. Siora hasn’t stayed much at the house yet, but I don’t know that he knows what to make of her.”

De Sardet frowned. She knew that the butler she’d been assigned seemed rather haughty, but she’d hoped talking to him about treating all her guests with respect would be enough to change his attitude. _Apparently not. Perhaps I should talk to Constantin about reassigning him. I would not want to put him out of a job, but he may be happier entertaining Constantin’s guests at the palace than my own friends._

“I have only a few servants,” she said aloud; she suspected that Petrus was used to a larger staff and more luxuries than her own modest home possessed. “It’s hardly a palace. But I would be glad to have you as my guest, if you prefer.”

“I would be honored,” Petrus replied. “I will gladly accept your invitation, my child.”

“We’ll leave for New Serene tomorrow.”


	51. A Noble Family

As soon as they’d returned to New Serene, Vasco spoke to de Sardet. “I’d like to know more about my family. I need to know what became of them. Could you accompany me to see Lady de Morange? I’m afraid that without you, she may refuse to give me any information.”

She agreed, and they went; as always, Kurt accompanied her, but Siora remained behind at the embassy, and Petrus did not come: Vasco had not yet entrusted the priest with his secret, and he was at the palace in any case. _He is Theleme’s ambassador to the Congregation, after all._ She planned on introducing him to Constantin as soon as she could arrange an audience, but she wanted to give Petrus some time to settle in before forcing him to begin his duties. _In the meantime, he can look at the space reserved for Theleme’s diplomatic contingent, arrange things to his liking, and examine the suite that he would have at the palace._ The bishop seemed to be used to luxury, and de Sardet couldn’t help but wonder if he would prefer to live at the palace instead of in her home. _He says he will be happy to reside in the legate’s house, but he may change his mind when he sees the ambassadorial suite at the governor’s palace._ De Sardet could offer him only a much smaller room, the same as the ones that Kurt, Vasco, and Siora were now occupying.

“Have you learned anything more of Sir Bastien?” she asked as they walked.

“Little enough,” Vasco replied. “I know he is on the island, but that is all. I hope that Lady de Morange will have news of him; after all, she did serve as governor for five years, and from what I can tell, Bastien has been here for nearly three.” He frowned. “I have not been able to find out which ship he sailed on during the crossing. He arrived on the island before I became captain of the _Sea Horse_ , but I do not remember him as a passenger on the ship.”

“What are the odds that you would have?”

“We often carry nobles to and from Serene,” Vasco replied. “Though, as the ship’s navigator, I would not have interacted with one of our noble passengers in any case.”

“How could that be? He would have been aboard the ship for months,” said de Sardet. “I certainly met all of your crew. There may have been some I did not speak with often, but I think I spoke to each of them at least once.”

Vasco looked amused. “I told you, that’s not common. Most nobles spend the voyage holed up in their cabins…much as your Sir de Courcillon did.”

“He was seasick,” de Sardet protested. “Surely not all of your noble passengers can be so ill?”

Vasco laughed. “Hardly. Most of them stay in their cabins so they don’t have to interact with the crew. They’d consider it beneath them to speak to a Naut. I don’t think I spoke to a single one of our noble passengers until I made captain; your nobility will deign to speak with the captain, and sometimes even the first mate, but never a common member of the crew. I don’t think I ever expected to see a noble talking with my cabin boy, let alone rescuing him. As for the rest of it…” He laughed. “I don’t know that I ever expected two nobles to take part in our crossing celebrations. Seeing you win that tug-of-war, well…let’s just say it’s not an event I ever expect to see repeated, unless the two of you participate on your journey home.”

“Home,” de Sardet sighed, and thought of her mother. _Is she well? When will I hear from her?_ She had already written one letter to her upon arriving in New Serene, and another just before her departure for San Matheus. _I’ll write a third before we leave for Hikmet._ She’d left the letters with Constantin, instructing him to include them in the diplomatic packet on the next ship to Serene. _I only hope that Mother is alive to hear them read to her. Lady de Nicolet will read them to her._ Sylvie de Nicolet was Jeanne de Sardet’s closest friend, and was one of the few nobles permitted in the Princess de Sardet’s presence since her illness had grown severe. _Mother said that Lady de Nicolet would spend more time with her once I was gone. I hope that she takes good care of her._

Before either Kurt or Vasco could reply, they reached Lady de Morange’s front door. “Well, here we are,” said Kurt.

Laurine de Morange had taken an opulent home in the Silver District, not far from Orsay Square, and Vasco was clearly nervous as they entered: unlike Kurt, who’d grown used to being around luxury during his time in the Prince’s Palace in Serene, Vasco seemed entirely off-put by the rich carpets, hardwood floors, and fine oil paintings.

“Good day, Lady de Morange.”

“Lady de Sardet, isn’t it? I hope you and your cousin have grown to like it here.”

“We do indeed,” said de Sardet. “New Serene is a lovely city, and I understand that we have you to thank for it. Your work as governor is quite astonishing. I understand that you were responsible for creating this city as we know it.”

“Indeed,” Lady de Morange replied. “When I arrived, there was little here save the harbor and a few ramshackle huts.” She needed little encouragement to speak of the city and the island, and spoke of both at length: it was clear that she loved Teer Fradee and was interested in its native inhabitants. “I heard that you have taken a native princess as your companion. It is a pity that you did not bring her with you; I should love to meet her.”

“I would be glad to introduce her,” de Sardet answered. “Siora is the daughter of the late Queen Bladnid, who was unfortunately killed in a recent battle with the forces of the Bridge Alliance.”

“That is indeed a shame,” said Lady de Morange. “There have always been hostilities between the Bridge and the natives; though they are our allies, I must say that I detest the way that they treat the native people here, and I would not seek to model our relations after theirs. I have always tried to forge better relations with the natives than either the Bridge Alliance or Theleme, though I fear I have not always succeeded. Perhaps you will be able to accomplish more.”

“I hope that I can,” de Sardet replied. “But I would not have been able to do so without the work you have already done. Because of your tenure as governor, the natives trust us more than any other continental faction on the island. Again, I thank you for that, and apologize if my cousin has not given you the recognition you deserve.”

Laurine de Morange smiled. “You really do come from the court,” she said. “You are truly adept at diplomacy; I can see why your uncle appointed you to the post.”

“I’m glad you can,” de Sardet confessed. “This is my first true position of responsibility.”

“You have been doing an admirable job…as has your cousin. I must admit, that surprised me; when he relieved me of my duties, the Prince d’Orsay’s instructions also suggested that I might be required to act as a sort of lieutenant governor, and that I ought to be prepared to assist the new governor with all of his responsibilities. Yet he has proved both a most capable and willing young man. I am most pleased with you both…particularly as my own legate was such a disappointment.”

“Sir de Courtenay. Yes, I have heard,” de Sardet replied. “I hardly know why he was not recalled sooner.”

“What is the reason that is always given? Politics. House de Courtenay is powerful, and your uncle undoubtedly wished to avoid offending them. But my own removal gave him the opportunity to replace Legate de Courtenay with yourself, and the Prince d’Orsay desiring to place his own niece in the role meant that House de Courtenay could say nothing…as was true for House de Morange when I was replaced with his only son. But I am glad to have left the palace in such capable hands!”

“I hope that you will remain in your current role,” de Sardet replied. “Constantin says you have proved an invaluable source of help.” He’d said nothing of the sort, of course, but de Sardet knew that Lady de Morange had been a great help to him. _Constantin feels that Lady de Morange was given her current role because his father feels he is not capable of ruling on his own – much like Sir de Courcillon, Monsieur Vaillancourt, and Kurt._ As such, he was not overly inclined to lavish compliments on her. There was more than a grain of truth in Constantin’s belief, but Alexandra de Sardet didn’t believe it should invalidate the help that they had given him. _Undoubtedly, my uncle sent Kurt to protect him, Sir de Courcillon to look after him, and Lady de Morange and Monsieur Vaillancourt to help handle the affairs of the island._ She had the sneaking suspicion that she had been sent to help manage Constantin as well, but she knew her cousin would never think of her that way. _My company could never be a burden to him, and he would never see me as his father’s spy._

“You have proved equally invaluable, Lady de Sardet,” Lady de Morange replied. “Or do you prefer being referred to by your title, Your Excellency?”

“It hardly matters,” de Sardet answered. “I have never been one to stand on ceremony.”

“I might have suspected that,” de Morange replied with a smile, glancing at Kurt and Vasco. “Your appearance in the Coin Arena seemed to suggest as much. Lady de Sardet and the Excellencies.”

“I thought it would help repair our relations with the Coin Guard, and perhaps with the ordinary people of the city. I know it is not particularly ladylike, nor what would be expected from a noblewoman, but..." de Sardet couldn't help a rueful smile. "It seemed a good idea at the time.”

“As indeed it has proved to be. I congratulate you on that, and promise that I will not breathe a word of it to anyone in Serene. I cannot imagine the scandal it would provoke!” Lady de Morange laughed. “I must admit, I cannot imagine the previous legate doing such a thing. He was the sort to visit the Coin Arena to bet on the fights, but he would never have thought of setting foot in the ring itself.” She paused, and seemed to recollect herself. “But I have little reason to think you have paid me a visit to exchange civilities. Can I be of service?”

De Sardet went directly to the point. “We would like some information regarding an important family, the d’Arcys.”

A smile played on Lady de Morange’s lips. “Well, I could tell you many things about them, but I suppose you want to know something in particular?”

Vasco couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Are there any members of this family on the island?”

“Indeed,” de Morange replied, and de Sardet could see Vasco’s eyes widen. “Bastien d’Arcy, the son of the family, has been in New Serene for quite some time. Last I heard about it, he was doing business…but that doesn’t help in knowing where he is. The d’Arcys’ first attempt at establishing themselves on this island wasn’t very fruitful…but I seem to recall that, since then, the son has found a competent associate who has been working here for a long time.”

“Perfect! Could you tell us where to find her?”

Lady de Morange spoke of a Madam Clerc who worked in a warehouse near the docks, and de Sardet thanked her profusely.

“To think that Bastien is here, on this island,” said Vasco.

“Do you want to seek her out now?” de Sardet asked.

“Could we? I mean, do you have anything else that you need to do? I mean, you have that bishop to attend to, and—”

“Petrus will be busy at the palace all day,” de Sardet said. “I instructed one of the palace servants to give him a tour.” She smiled. “I may also ask him to help me find a new butler.”

“Was he sick of acting as your taster, or too outraged by having to wait on a Naut and a Coin Guard?” Kurt asked.

“In all honesty, I think that seeing Siora returning to the legate’s house was the final straw,” de Sardet replied. “He saw her, and asked how long the ‘savage’ was to be remaining with us. I told him that she would be remaining indefinitely, but he would not, as I clearly could not trust him to act with kindness toward my guests.”

“You should’ve told him she was a princess, Green Blood,” Kurt said, amused. “He should have been bowing and calling her ‘Her Highness’ all this time. Between having Princess Siora and Lord Léandre to wait on, his only objection would have been to me.”

“I doubt that would have convinced him,” said Vasco, smiling. “I can’t say I’ll miss the man.”

“Was he truly unkind to you?” de Sardet asked, upset at the thought. “I thought his behavior had improved after I spoke to him the first time.” _It did when I was around, but that means little enough._ She knew all too well that bullies preferred to act when those in authority could not see them. _How many times did Lady Isabelle wait to mock me until no one else was around? Kurt was often my shadow, but he had to watch over both me and Constantin, and he was not always around._

Kurt shrugged. “The opinions of a man like that don’t matter. It was nothing worth troubling you over.”

“And I have always been used to those who look down on the Nauts,” Vasco agreed. “It was almost amusing, seeing how offended he was at having to offer his services to a Naut captain.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why? So you could get upset?” Kurt asked.

“I could have dismissed him sooner. If anyone treats either of you poorly – or Siora, for that matter – please, tell me. I would not associate with anyone who does not treat my friends well.”

“I wonder how this bishop will be,” said Kurt. “He seems the sort who’s used to the finer things in life. I doubt he’s used to consorting with Nauts and Coin Guard.”

“And natives?” Vasco asked. “If Theleme spends its time burning those guardians and persecuting so-called heretics, I doubt it’s safe for them to venture into the wilderness.” 

“That isn’t necessarily true. Bishop Petrus is a member of one of the missionary orders. He likely came here to spread the luminous faith to the natives.”

“Somehow, I can’t see him camping in the woods,” Kurt replied. “Or living like the pretty twig and her people do, in one-room huts with packed dirt floors.”

“Neither can I,” said Vasco. “I can hardly imagine him on the voyage here. I’d wager he was like all the other nobles we’ve transported, holed up in his cabin complaining about the cramped quarters, the quality of the food, and the lack of running water.”

“I’ll admit, I was glad to have a hot bath at the end of our voyage,” said de Sardet. “Though I was rather chagrined to discover that the legate’s residence lacks running water…as does the governor’s palace, apparently. Constantin reassures me that he will arrange to install piping as soon as possible.”

“In the meantime, you still have servants to draw your water,” Vasco pointed out as they made their way from the Silver District to the Port Quarter. “That’s hardly a hardship.”

“You know Green Blood,” Kurt told him. “She feels guilty about asking them to haul water upstairs. She’d have a hot bath every night if she could have it piped in.”

“I must admit, it’s a luxury I’ve come to enjoy,” Vasco admitted. “A basin of saltwater is the most you can hope for aboard ship.”

“I’m surprised most Nauts keep their hair long,” said Kurt. “A shorter style would mean you wouldn’t have to wash it as often.”

“Why does the Coin Guard require you to keep yours short? I don’t think I’ve seen a guard with a queue.”

“Fits under a helmet easier,” Kurt said. “And, if you’re not wearing a helmet, it means there’s nothing to pull in a fight. The last thing you need when you’re on guard duty is some drunkard getting a handful of hair. A queue like yours? It’s practically a handle. Tell me you’ve never had anyone try to grab it in a fight.”

“I haven’t let anyone get close enough,” Vasco replied. He patted his pistol. “I prefer to settle things at long range. If anyone gets in closer than that, my rapier can take care of it, but if they’re inside my reach for that, I have larger concerns than what they’re doing with my hair.”

“Do you know, Constantin and I spent the first few months of our acquaintance wondering if Kurt had hair,” de Sardet laughed.

“Really?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, really. You always had a hat on. Constantin thought you were bald. He couldn’t decide whether or not you couldn’t grow hair…especially as you didn’t have your stubble when we first met.”

“Well, that should have answered the question.”

“I can’t remember the first time we saw you without a hat on. Maybe it was one of the days when we were training, and you took off your hat to put your helmet on. I thought Constantin would faint.”

“He’s not exactly a wilting flower,” Kurt said, amused.

“Look,” said Vasco, interrupting, as they set foot on the docks. “Is that her? She looks like the woman Lady de Morange described, and I believe that warehouse is owned by one of the princely families of the Congregation.”

“It is,” de Sardet agreed. After she had helped Vasco find his file, she had done her own investigations into House d’Arcy, learning what she could of the family. _I did not have time to learn much, but I know the answer to this question._ “That is House d’Arcy’s warehouse.”

Madam Clerc was a harried-looking woman in her mid-forties; she had frown lines cut into her face, and her hair was messy, gathered into a disheveled side tail that poked out of a lopsided merchant’s cap. “Can I help you? Are you here to do business?”

“Are you Madam Clerc?”

“We’d like to meet with your associate, Mister d’Arcy,” Vasco added, unable to contain himself.

“Bastien? I don’t I know where he is. I can’t say he often graces us with his presence.” Her voice spoke of exhaustion and exasperation.

“You don’t have the slightest idea of where he is?” Vasco asked.

“I am not his caretaker, you know!”

“You don’t seem to hold him in high regard,” de Sardet said carefully; inwardly, she felt a sinking feeling in her chest. _I had hoped Bastien had changed._

“Listen, my relationship with my associate is no one else’s concern…and if you did not come to do business, well…”

De Sardet glanced at Vasco. “Captain,” she said carefully. “A moment, if you will?”

Vasco nodded, and they stepped aside. “I do not wish to give away your secret without your permission,” she said, “but I cannot see a better way of convincing Madam Clerc than revealing your relationship. While we could pretend that it is a matter of business, or that we are seeking Bastien for another reason, I do not know that she will listen.”

“But you think she would help a Naut reunite with his brother?” Vasco asked skeptically. “What, out of the goodness of her heart?”

“She is employed by the d’Arcy family,” de Sardet replied. “In the Congregation, secrets are currency, and worth more than coin. We could try to bribe her with gold…but it seems to me that the knowledge that House d’Arcy gave a son to the Nauts would be more valuable still. I do not know how she would use that secret, or when, but it may be worth something to her.”

Vasco nodded. “I trust you, de Sardet,” he said. “If you think that this will get her to talk, then go ahead.”

“If it doesn’t, there’s always gold,” said Kurt. “If secrets don’t convince her, coin may suffice.”

De Sardet moved back to Madam Clerc. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve come on business after all?”

“We must find him,” said de Sardet. “This man you can see by my side is his brother.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Clerc snapped. “I know that the d’Arcys only have one son, alas!”

“You can see the Naut tattoos on his face, can’t you? And a merchant like you must surely know about the Nauts’ recruiting process!”

Clerc leaned forward, looking at Vasco with narrow-eyed suspicion. De Sardet saw the moment when she made the connection: her face slackened, her eyes widened, and she leaned back. “So it is true,” she breathed. “The d’Arcys gave away one of their children! I find it hard to believe.” Still looking at Vasco, she said, “He was supposed to go to Hikmet to deal with one of our clients, but I did not receive any news of him after his departure…and, given his tendency to get himself in impossible situations, I didn’t try to get any,” she confessed.

“Who is this client?” 

“His name is Ferhat, you’ll find him in the alchemist district. I’ll write this down.” Taking out a quill, ink, and parchment, she began to write a direction.

“You think something may have happened to him there?”

“His mission wasn’t very complicated. He had to pay for a valuable shipment and take charge of it…but, with Bastien, anything is possible!”

“Thank you, madam,” de Sardet thanked her. She paused. “Could you tell us anything more about Sir Bastien?”

“Sir Bastien,” she snorted. “Sir Bastien, always getting himself into trouble. The family hired me to look after him, you know. His father, Prince Florian, sent him to the island to look after their affairs, but the only affairs Bastien has any interest in looking to are the sort that involve hired courtesans. They sent me here to try to salvage the family’s affairs, and to try to rope him into learning the business…but, as I told Prince Florian, and as I have told you, my duties do not involve babysitting a wastrel of a lord who thinks more highly of himself than of the people doing the real work around here.”

“You sound as if you resent him,” de Sardet said carefully.

Clerc laughed. “I resent that he creates more work for me. There isn’t a task invented that Bastien couldn’t fail. Everywhere he goes, he seems to do nothing, and yet somehow make things worse. I’ve made something of House d’Arcy’s business interests here despite his best efforts to ruin them, but I’m not compensated half as well as I ought to be for dealing with him. Does that answer your question, Your Excellency?”

“It does,” said de Sardet. “Thank you again for your help.”

Clerc frowned at Vasco. “I’d stay well away from him if I were you. Bastien manages to disappoint everyone he meets. I can’t imagine a brother would be any different.”

Vasco didn’t reply as they moved away. “We’re due to leave for Hikmet soon anyway,” said de Sardet. “I have to pay my respects to Governor Burhan. We can always arrange to depart sooner, and learn what’s become of your brother before we meet the governor.”

“If he has gotten himself into some sort of trouble…”

“Then we’ll extricate him from it,” de Sardet promised. “You know that Kurt and I saved Constantin from a group of bandits the day we left Serene. He can hardly have gotten himself in worse trouble than that!”

“If you’d like to handle your duties at the palace first—”

“Governor Burhan has already been waiting for my arrival. He can wait a day or two more,” de Sardet replied. “It may take that long to arrange an audience in any case. I’m still surprised the Mother Cardinal saw me as quickly as she did.”

“She probably wanted to get a good look at the new legate,” said Kurt. “I’m sure this Burhan will be the same way.” He glanced at Vasco. “But he can’t say anything if you have diplomatic business to attend to before meeting him…and it’s not as if you’re required to tell him you’re in the city the moment you arrive.”

“His guards will likely send word,” de Sardet replied. “But even if we have an audience with him immediately upon our arrival, I hope it will not take all day. We’ll have plenty of time to find out what’s become of Bastien…and it is, after all, my duty to do so.”

“What?” Vasco asked, confused.

“Sir Bastien d’Arcy is a citizen of the Congregation. His associate, Madam Clerc, has just informed me that he appears to be in trouble, and has asked me to make an inquiry into his welfare,” de Sardet said. “If Governor Burhan objects, I will inform him that I believed Sir Bastien to be in imminent danger, and had to place the life of one of our citizens over a routine diplomatic meeting.”

“Bravo,” Kurt said. “You are quite the diplomat.”

“Indeed,” said Vasco. “I couldn’t have come up with such a convincing speech.” He paused. “You won’t mind leaving New Serene so soon? I know we’ve only just arrived, and your cousin isn’t likely to be pleased that you’re leaving again so soon.”

De Sardet frowned. “I know Constantin will not want me to go, but he must understand, we both have our duties to the Congregation. I would have to leave for Hikmet soon in any case; Governor Burhan will not be pleased if I delay for too long, as he will surely discover I have already seen the Mother Cardinal.” 

“We won’t be gone long, I’m sure. A day to travel to Hikmet, a few days there, another day to return…we should be back within a week.”


	52. Nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A content warning for the chapter: reference to abuse, as de Sardet remembers Constantin's relationship with his father.

Vasco was right: Constantin was not happy that she had to leave. He was already out of sorts when she arrived for supper with Kurt, Vasco, Siora, and Petrus in tow. “I had not thought this would be a diplomatic function,” Constantin said, eyeing Petrus.

“Nor is it,” Petrus answered. “I am here at Legate de Sardet’s invitation…entirely informally, of course. But if I am unwelcome…”

“No! Of course not! Any guest of my cousin’s is welcome here,” Constantin said, putting on a more diplomatic face, but de Sardet knew Constantin was displeased.

_He would have liked it to be just the two of us,_ she thought. But she had wanted to give Vasco the chance to decide how much he wanted her to tell Constantin about why they were leaving for Hikmet so soon, and after having dismissed her butler, she was wary of leaving the other servants alone with her guests unattended. _Kurt and Vasco both said that Marie and Robert have been kind, but would they tell me if they weren’t?_

“You are establishing quite the household, my dear cousin,” said Constantin. “A Naut captain, a native princess, and now a bishop of Theleme.”

“Glad to be remembered,” Kurt offered dryly.

“I suppose I should not have forgotten a hero of the arena! To Legate de Sardet and the Excellencies,” said Constantin, pouring himself a glass of wine and raising it in a toast. “Tell me, when is your next foray into the arena?”

“Excuse me?” Petrus asked.

“You have not told him?” Constantin asked in mock surprise. He grinned, a wicked glint in his eye, and de Sardet knew he would enjoy scandalizing the bishop with tales of how the Prince d’Orsay’s niece had become a fighter in the Coin Arena. “My cousin is a champion of the arena!”

“Constantin,” she said, seeing Petrus trying and failing to conceal his shock, “you’re exaggerating. I’m not a champion.”

“Yet. It is only a matter of time. You have succeeded in…what, three of their five challenges? And you rescued that hunter so bravely.”

De Sardet was forced to explain everything: the native merchant, the trade permit, even the Coin Guard’s extortion ring.

“She fought alone,” Constantin said.

“I fought alongside the native hunter. His name was Lugh, of the village of Vignamri.”

“She saved his life – and the life of the very man who was trying to kill him!”

“It showed them how honorable she truly is,” said Kurt. “It would have ended the fight then and there if she’d let him get trampled, but she wouldn’t do it.” He looked at de Sardet with admiration in his eyes.

“But why the continued appearances in the arena?” Petrus asked.

“Lieutenant Alaric suggested it,” said de Sardet. “He said that it would help earn the goodwill of the Coin Guard, and as it seems relations have grown strained, I thought it a good idea. They are not fights to the death, after all.”

“But it hardly seems dignified,” Petrus protested. “A lady of the Congregation, entering a Coin Arena…”

“I realize that my uncle is not likely to be pleased when he hears of it,” de Sardet admitted, “but if it helps earn the admiration and respect of the Coin Guard, it will have been worth it.”

“They are not fights to the death,” said Vasco. “Nor is she entering alone.”

“Kurt would not hear of it,” de Sardet said. “He was unhappy enough that Commander Torsten insisted I enter the arena alone when I aided Lugh. Arena teams are always three members, in any case, and I am glad that both Kurt and Vasco volunteered to fight at my side.”

“They call her team ‘the Excellencies,’” said Constantin. “Though I don’t know why they settled on that, as my dear cousin is the only member of the nobility among them.”

“What would you have called them?” asked Petrus.

“The Captains, perhaps. Kurt and Vasco are both captains, after all, and my cousin would have been the captain of the team…the captain of the captains, as it were. Legate de Sardet and the Captains,” Constantin declared, testing it on his tongue. “Though I must say that is not as appealing as ‘the Excellencies,’ it fits them better. I can’t imagine anyone ever mistaking Kurt for a nobleman!”

De Sardet glanced at Kurt, hoping Constantin had not hurt his feelings, but Kurt knew him too well to be stung by the offhanded comment. “It’s the only time anyone will ever call me ‘Your Excellency,’ I’m sure,” he said.

Constantin went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “I think the name would have been far more apt had I been allowed to enter at her side. I would have been eager to do so!”

“I’m sure Alaric would have loved that,” said Kurt. “The governor himself throwing his hat into the ring.”

“The crowds would have been enormous,” Vasco agreed, and Constantin beamed, though his face soon fell as he looked to Petrus.

“My cousin would not hear of it,” he said. “Nor would my advisors. But I would have loved to join her! Imagine the announcement. ‘Governor Constantin d’Orsay and the Excellencies.’ It could have been you, me, and Siora; she is, after all, a princess of her people, and the title is close enough. Sir d’Orsay and the Highnesses does not have the same ring to it.” Constantin’s gaze lit on Vasco. “Or Captain Vasco could have joined us…he is of noble birth, after all!” 

Again, Petrus was lost in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

It was Constantin’s turn to be surprised. “What? You mean that neither my fair cousin nor the enchanting captain has told you?”

De Sardet flinched, giving Vasco an apologetic look, but he did not seem to mind. “He’s coming with us to Hikmet,” Vasco said to her. “It would have come out in any case.” To Petrus, he said, “I am a sea-given Naut, and have recently learned that my birth parents were the Prince and Princess d’Arcy, of the Congregation.”

De Sardet took that opportunity to tell Constantin of their departure. “I hope to help Captain Vasco reunite with his brother, Sir Bastien, when we reach Hikmet. We will be leaving tomorrow.”

“So soon? But you’ve only just arrived! I thought that you would stay at least a fortnight before you went out again.”

“I fear I cannot. You would not want me to risk Governor Burhan’s displeasure, would you? That could have ramifications for the Congregation.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Constantin declared. “You can’t run yourself ragged, my dear cousin.”

“I will not, I promise. I am more concerned about your health.” Constantin was making more of an effort to eat, but she thought he looked pale and weary. “You seem tired.”

“It is only the shock of learning that you are leaving again so soon.” Constantin pouted. “I thought that I would have the opportunity to dine with you every night for a week, force you to attend some of the meetings that bore me so dreadfully, perhaps see you enter the arena one night…”

“If you are truly ill, I could stay,” she said reluctantly. She looked to Vasco. “I would send you ahead, of course. If Bastien is in Hikmet, and potentially in distress—”

To his credit, Constantin looked a little guilty. “I am not that unwell. I am being selfish, of course. I am used to having you all to myself! If you must go, well…” He made a shooing gesture with one hand. “I know you will return as soon as you can.”

After supper that night, Petrus walked at her side as they left the palace. “I thought that the discovery of my activities in the Coin Arena shocked you,” she admitted. “I hope the revelation did not scandalize you dreadfully.”

“It surprised me to learn of it, yes,” Petrus admitted. “I do not believe that many noblewomen of the Congregation would be willing to do so…let alone the niece of the Prince d’Orsay himself!”

“Vasco enjoys it. I know that he has had little else to do since his ship was taken from him,” she said. “Kurt didn’t like the idea, but he’s resigned himself to the idea that it’s giving me practice against both human opponents and a variety of creatures that are native to this island.”

“Why was Captain Vasco assigned to shore duty? The Nauts usually see it as a punishment.”

“Vasco certainly does.” Kurt and Siora were talking, while Vasco was walking ahead of them, lost in thought. “From what he says, he thinks his admiral learned he was trying to discover more about his heritage, and questioned his loyalties.”

“Does he know when he was given to the Nauts, or why?”

“He is twenty-four, and was given to the Nauts when he was an infant,” said de Sardet. “As for why…I believe it was part of some larger contract between the Congregation and the Nauts, to reinforce our alliance, but neither of us knows more than that. Sir de Courcillon had mentioned a time when a number of noble families had to give their children to the Nauts; that may have been the time he referred to.” She noticed that Petrus had stopped walking, and the expression on his face was strangely guarded. “Why? Do you know more about that? You were in Serene at the time, weren’t you?”

“I was,” he admitted. “I was part of Theleme’s embassy to the Congregation then. I believe that relations between the Nauts and the Congregation had grown rather strained, and that several noble families were required to give their children to the Nauts to renew the alliance.”

“So his family did not give him to the Nauts to seal a trade agreement on their own behalf,” de Sardet mused. “Do you know anything more about it? Or about House d’Arcy?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Petrus. “House d’Arcy’s commercial interests have always been more inclined toward the Bridge Alliance than Theleme, and in any case, it has been more than fifteen years since I was last in Serene, so what intelligence I possess would likely be out of date in any case. I wish I could be of more assistance, but…”

“I understand. Thank you, Father.”

After they had returned to the house, while the others went upstairs, De Sardet approached Vasco with the information. “I know it isn’t much, but I thought you would appreciate the confirmation of what we knew.”

“I do. Thank you.” Vasco sighed. “I keep wondering what it will be like. What I will do.” He gave her a small smile. “Following you around these past few weeks, these dinners with your cousin at the palace, attending your meeting with the Mother Cardinal…it has all been very illuminating, so to speak…as has hearing you speak about your life in Serene. I do realize that life among the nobility is not all I’d imagined it to be…but I still have not met my family.”

He let out a small laugh. “Do you know, my full name was included in that file? ‘Léandre Aristide Lorand d’Arcy,’” he quoted. “I didn’t know you nobles had so many names. Two was twice as many as most people have. Do you have four names, de Sardet? Why do you need so many?”

“You have your given name as well as two middle names; you can have more, but two is customary,” said de Sardet. “Usually, you have at least one name to honor each side of your family, and a third that either honors a family friend, relative, or is simply one that both parents like. I was named Alexandra, after my father, and my mother gave me her own name as well. Alexandra Jeanne,” she said, “and Amelie, for her own mother. Alexandra Jeanne Amelie de Sardet. My own mother is Jeanne Anais Carine de Sardet; my father was Alexandre Nicolas Laurent de Sardet.” 

“And Constantin?”

“Constantin Augustin Octavien d’Orsay, the son of Augustin Hadrien Leonid d’Orsay and Heloise Simone Antoinette d’Orsay.”

“Have you ever met someone with five names?” Vasco asked, amused; he clearly thought that four names was ridiculous. “How many syllables does one person need to describe themselves?”

“The other names aren’t used often, only on official documents and such…or if someone truly hates their given name, they might go by another.” She paused. “My uncle’s first son, the one who was murdered…he had five names.” _Sebastien Augustin Emmanuel Absolon d’Orsay, son of Helena Beatrice Marielle d’Orsay._ Constantin had once found the names of his father’s first family in an old book in the family library; he’d shared it eagerly with de Sardet, but he had made the mistake of asking his father why he only had three names when Sebastien had been given four.

Augustin d’Orsay’s reaction had been terrifying: he had gone absolutely pale before demanding that Constantin tell him where he had learned the name. When Constantin hadn’t replied immediately, the Prince d’Orsay had grown very quiet. _That quiet voice was far more terrifying than his shouting…and his shouting was known to make grown men cry._ She still remembered the sound that his hand had made against Constantin’s face, and the sight of the blood, bright against Constantin’s pale skin. Augustin d’Orsay did not often strike his son, but he had been violent then, demanding that Constantin answer him.

Jeanne de Sardet had utterly forbidden her brother from ever laying a hand upon her own daughter, an injunction that Augustin d’Orsay had always obeyed. _He is the most powerful man in the Congregation, and yet he always obeyed Mother in that. He never hurt me, and he never let Aunt Heloise do so, either._ Even so, Augustin d’Orsay had always frightened his niece: in part because he was so intimidating even without the threat of violence, and in part because she remembered how he had treated Constantin. _I told him where we had found Sebastien’s name, and he told us never to speak of him again._ More specifically, he had snarled at Constantin that he was not worthy of speaking Sebastien’s name, and that he would never live up to Sebastien’s memory. _He said he could never replace him, that Constantin would not have been born if Sebastien had not died…that he wished Sebastien had lived._ Those words had hurt Constantin more than the split lip.

“De Sardet,” Vasco said, concerned. “Are you all right?”

She realized she’d drifted into the memory. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, and explained. By the time she’d finished, Vasco’s amusement had faded entirely, replaced by appalled horror.

“You told me being a noble wasn’t easy,” he said. “I didn’t think…”

“My uncle never hurt me,” she said quickly. “Not all nobles are like that. My mother was always kind.” She tilted her head. “Surely Constantin told you something of his father?”

“He did,” said Vasco, “but…” He swallowed. “Not that. We were not that close.”

“I would hope that your family will be kinder,” she said. “Your brother…he will be able to tell you more, I’m sure. But Constantin’s parents…they were not as violent as some, though brutality is frowned upon. Striking your child on occasion is considered acceptable by most members of the nobility, but beating them is not…and my mother would never have let anyone lay a hand on me. She hated violence.” Alexandra de Sardet still remembered her reaction when she’d seen Constantin’s split lip: Jeanne de Sardet had gathered him into her arms, daubed the blood from his lip with her own handkerchief, and consoled both of them as best she could. _She was so angry that my uncle struck him, and angrier still that he did so in front of me…but she said that we had to understand, that Helena and Sebastien were too close to his heart, that their deaths had hurt him in a way we could not understand._

It had hurt Jeanne de Sardet to speak of her lost sister-in-law and nephew as well. “Helena and I were the dearest of friends, and Sebastien was a sweet boy who was growing into a fine young man. I know that without their deaths, you would not have your cousin…but I do miss them both terribly. For your uncle, their loss is an open wound that will never truly heal…one that the two of you inadvertently salted when you found that book. Please, do not speak of them in front of your uncle again…or even amongst yourselves.”

She found herself wondering if the d’Arcys considered Vasco’s loss in the same way. _How does a family give up a child to the Nauts?_ She remembered the Fontaines’ pain, and the look in Victor Fontaine’s eyes when he’d cursed the day he’d given his son to them. _What do they feel when they hear the name Léandre Aristide Lorand d’Arcy? How will they react when they see him standing in front of them?_

“Do you think that my brother knows of me?” Vasco asked, drawing her from her thoughts. “He would have been a toddler when I was taken, far too young to remember. It is the custom of most families to consider the child they donated as having died, I know…but I do not know if they acknowledge that they ever lived.”

“I do not believe that is the case,” de Sardet said. “As far as I am aware, the entire matter is often shrouded in secrecy, a subject for gossip, if it becomes known…but the families who give their children over prefer to pretend that the child never existed at all. As the gossip fades, so too does the memory of that child.”

“So my brother will not even have an inkling that I exist…unless it is through rumor and gossip.”

“I’m afraid so.” De Sardet reached forward and gave Vasco a hug: an impulsive gesture, but one that he seemed to take in the spirit it was intended, an offer of comfort and friendship. “I hope he will be kind. I hope that he will be glad to have a brother. I know that the d’Arcys don’t have any other children. Maybe he will be happy to have found you.”

“Maybe,” Vasco said, but he sounded much more uncertain. “From what Madam Clerc said of him, I don’t know that he sounds the sort.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” de Sardet blurted, then winced as she saw Vasco’s keen eye upon her.

“Changed? So you knew him?”

“Only as children,” she said quickly. “It was many years ago…over a decade, now.”

“But you did not tell me. Why?” Vasco’s eyes narrowed. “Because you knew I would not like what I heard. No,” he corrected himself. “Because you thought it would hurt me. That’s nearer the truth, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Bastien…” Her hand drifted to her cheek despite herself. “He was one of the children who came to the palace to be educated alongside me and Constantin. It was a brief experiment; my uncle had hoped Constantin would make friends, but things went awry.”

“And Bastien?”

“He mocked my appearance…my birthmark. But we were children. He may have changed,” she said quickly.

“But you were not confident enough in that to tell me,” said Vasco.

“I didn’t want to prejudice you against him. Especially after Madam Clerc gave her opinion.”

“Constantin did not say anything,” he said.

“I asked him not to. I didn’t want to ruin this for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, de Sardet, but if anyone ruins this meeting, it will not be you,” Vasco replied. “All my life, I’ve imagined what my family would be like, if they would welcome me with open arms, whether I’d have a brother or sister to call my own. I must admit, I may have painted myself a rather rosy view of the situation…especially in light of how most nobles seem to treat their children. Even the Prince d’Orsay.”

“My mother—”

“Was exceptional, as you yourself admit. How many noble parents loved their children in the same way? How many spent so much time with their children?”

De Sardet hesitated, and knew her answer came in her silence.

“Life among the nobility is complicated. Far more so than being a Naut. I’m coming to understand that.” Now, it was her turn to be surprised as Vasco gave her a brief hug in return. “Thank you, de Sardet.”


	53. Arrival in Hikmet

The journey to Hikmet was uneventful: a few isolated run-ins with beasts on the road, but nothing they couldn’t handle, thanks in part to the practice they’d had in the Coin Arena. _I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s helped make Green Blood a better fighter,_ Kurt thought. He had to admit that Petrus was a competent fighter as well; that had surprised him. _I didn’t expect it of a priest, even one who wears armor like a second skin._ Petrus always wore his breastplate and helmet, both of which were in excellent condition, and Kurt doubted he ever took off his magic ring or necklace.

As they approached Hikmet, they saw a fort rising in the distance. “A natural chokepoint,” said Kurt. “Look, Green Blood. Anyone who wants to get to the city has to pass through that fort.” It was well-guarded, with a patrol manning the gate.

“Look,” de Sardet said, pointing. “I see movement. Don’t you?”

Kurt saw it too. “There’s someone there. A scout, I think. Native, from the way they blend in.” _Or someone who’s been trained in camouflage,_ a small voice said at the back of his mind. Kurt had been trained for it. _Stealth and sneaking around, all the tools of spies and assassins…everything that damned camp wanted us to learn._ He pushed the thought aside. _That was a long time ago, and the Guard shut down that camp. The Coin Guard isn’t in the business of making assassins._

“Let me speak with them,” Siora exclaimed. “I do not think they are from my village, not when we are so far from Vedrhais, but—”

“Should you approach them at all, my child? It might be best to ignore them completely,” Petrus suggested. “We could pretend we saw nothing.”

“And let those guards walk into an ambush? If that native’s scouting the outpost, he’s up to nothing good,” said Kurt. He watched as the gate opened and a patrol went out; the native watched intently, and a few moments later, the sound of a bird-call came from the same direction. “He’s tracking the patrols.”

“Let’s talk to him,” said de Sardet. “Siora, would you translate?” She beckoned to Kurt. “Come. We’ll see what he intends.”

They found the native, crouched on a hillock overlooking the outpost, but he insisted that he was only hunting. “This close to an outpost? Do you take me for a fool?” de Sardet demanded, but the man would not give her his reasons; instead, he begged her for her silence.

“He’s planning an ambush, Green Blood,” said Kurt.

“He’s fighting the lions, just as my people are.”

“Fighting honorably is one thing. Those men don’t deserve to walk into an ambush.”

“They’re lions, like the lions who killed my mother,” said Siora. “They deserve it.” 

“They’re Coin Guard,” Kurt said. “Like me.”

That decided de Sardet. “I’m sorry, Siora, but Kurt is right. The Congregation of Merchants and the Bridge Alliance are allied, and this so-called hunter would not give us an honest explanation. We owe it to the men at this outpost to tell them of what we’ve seen.”

“But then more of my people will die!”

“They can always call off the ambush,” Kurt said. “That native’s tracking the patrols. If he notices they’ve changed their route, or that they’re more alert than usual, he can call off the attack. No one has to die; it’s up to them.”

Siora had no answer ready for that, especially when they were halted by the outpost guard, who spoke of increasing danger on the roads. “Why? Do you have anything peculiar to report?” he asked.

Siora frowned at her, but de Sardet told him. “I crossed paths with a native who seemed to be watching the guard post and noting the rounds.”

“Your keen eyes will save countless lives,” he said. “Thank you for your vigilance!” He spoke of merchant caravans that had been coming under attack and the dangers of travel before standing aside to let her through, promising, “We’ll strengthen the guards and stagger the rounds. Safe travels, milady.”

“Look,” de Sardet said, gazing down into the city: the outpost was on the top of a tall hill, where Hikmet was at its base. There were fewer farms around the outskirts than there had been in San Matheus, and those that existed seemed to be focused more on livestock; de Sardet could see several domesticated native beasts grazing, along with a herd of goats, some chickens, and a handful of other animals.

“If you’re planning on visiting the palace, you’d better stash the little one,” Kurt advised her. “The pretty twig won’t be welcome there.”

“Neither will I,” said Petrus. “Governor Burhan does not permit citizens of Theleme to enter his palace.” A note of disdain entered his voice. “Apparently, he believes that even one citizen of my country would be capable of burning his palace to the ground. To him, I am as dangerous as an army.”

“It’s beginning to grow late,” de Sardet said; it was only late afternoon, but Kurt was glad she wanted to rest: he doubted that the streets of Hikmet were any safer than those of San Matheus or New Serene after dark, and didn’t want her wandering unfamiliar streets searching for Bastien d’Arcy. “I’ll have the embassy send word to the palace that we’ve arrived, and ask that Governor Burhan see us at his convenience. I’m sure that will take a day or two.”

They were stopped once again at the entrance to the city, where a guard once more questioned de Sardet on her name, title, and reason for visiting the city. “Lady de Sardet, emissary of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee,” she said. “I have come to present my regards to your governor.”

“Lady de Sardet!” he exclaimed, looking pleased. “You’re the one who’s been fighting in the arena! Captain of the Excellencies, isn’t it?”

Kurt saw de Sardet’s cheeks flush red. “I had not thought word would spread beyond New Serene,” she admitted.

“Gaspard’s a hero here, and everyone in the Guard knows Guard business, regardless of your regiment. We all heard about that,” said the guard. “It was good of you to save his life…and surprised everyone that you won against him. His old arena team fought off one of those island monsters.”

_I wonder what he’d say if he knew Green Blood fought one off single-handed,_ Kurt thought. De Sardet was too modest to speak of it herself, he knew, and he doubted she would want anyone else to mention it. _She’d be embarrassed, and say it was only because the creature was wounded…but she fought well, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She doesn’t give herself enough credit._

“I was glad to be able to help,” she answered. “Anyone would have done the same, I’m sure.”

“In the arena, when you were on opposing sides? Not a chance,” the guard answered. His gaze strayed to Kurt and Vasco. “And you’ve brought the team with you! Do you plan on fighting here?”

“Not at all,” de Sardet replied, and Kurt was amused to see the look of disappointment on the man’s face. “I’m here to speak with your governor, on official business as legate of the Congregation.”

The guard’s gaze strayed to Petrus and Siora. “I suppose these people are in your party?”

“They are. Will that be a problem?”

“Not if you’re willing to vouch for them, and they keep away from the palace.”

“I am, and that will not be an issue,” de Sardet reassured him. “Captain Kurt and Captain Vasco will accompany me; I believe that Bishop Petrus and Princess Siora will be remaining in the embassy.”

“Princess?” the man echoed, looking at Siora with curiosity, but soon snapped back to attention. “Welcome to Hikmet, Your Excellency.”

“Your Excellency and the Excellencies?” Vasco suggested wryly as they stepped through the city gates. “I wonder what he would have done if you’d told him you were here to fight in the arena.”

“Run down to the tavern to place a bet,” Kurt suggested.

“For or against us, do you think?”

“Is there any question about that? Gaspard is going to have to watch his back, or Green Blood will replace him as the hero of the arena.”

“We would all be heroes,” de Sardet said; her entire face was red with embarrassment, and her embarrassment shone through in her voice. “We are, after all, the Excellencies; I’m not the only one fighting.”

“But you are the one they’re watching,” said Vasco. “There are plenty of members of the Coin Guard and the Nauts who take their turns in the arena, but a lady of the Congregation…I’d say that’s a first.”

“I hadn’t thought news would spread so quickly,” de Sardet admitted. “I hadn’t thought it _would_ be news.”

“Why not?” Kurt asked. “If any noble lady of the Congregation had set foot in the arena in Serene…let alone one as fine as you…”

“…it would have been utterly scandalous,” de Sardet finished with a sigh. “No. It would have been more than scandalous, it would have been absolutely unthinkable. Even setting foot in the arena to watch a match would have been the subject of gossip. Actually fighting…”

“I doubt that there are many ladies of the Congregation who are trained well enough to fight in an arena,” said Petrus, “let alone who could claim victory.”

“I have Kurt to thank for that,” she answered.

“You put plenty of hours of hard work into training, Green Blood. Don’t discount that,” he said. “And more of the credit should go to that teacher your uncle hired to teach you magic.”

“Not at all. He may have taught me the spells, but you’re the one who taught me to fight. How to defend myself, how to move, when to use a spell and when to draw my sword…if you had not been my master-at-arms, I do not think I would have survived my encounter with the creature in Serene, let alone the challenges of the arena.”

It was Kurt’s turn to feel embarrassed; he wasn’t used to being complimented, and he had to admit her words touched him. “Was just doing my job,” he managed, and was glad to see the flag of the Congregation down a nearby sidestreet. “Look, Green Blood. There’s the embassy.” 

“We’ll look for Monsieur Ferhat tomorrow,” de Sardet promised Vasco. “Hopefully he’ll know where to find your brother.”

“Thank you, de Sardet,” Vasco said.

“In the meantime, we’ll all get cleaned up.” The embassy staff seemed surprised by the legate’s entourage, both its size and composition, but was professional enough to direct them to their rooms without comment.

Kurt was pleased to find that the embassy had hot and cold running water, and that his bedroom included an adjoining bathroom, complete with porcelain bathtub. _Now there’s a welcome sight. Green Blood will be pleased._

He had to admit he was just as happy: a hot bath was a rare luxury for a Coin Guard, and he took it eagerly, sinking into the steaming water with a sigh of relief. _They clearly expected nobler guests._ There were a variety of soaps and bath oils laid out on a small table alongside the tub, and he sniffed at each of them in turn before trying one.

He’d just gotten his hair lathered when he heard someone knocking on his door. “What is it?”

“Governor Burhan wants to see de Sardet.”

“Tonight?”

“Apparently, now. She’s none too happy either.”

Kurt rinsed his hair quickly and reached for a towel. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

As a Coin Guard, he was used to dressing quickly; he threw on a clean blue and silver doublet with one of his fine shirts beneath, then pulled on underwear, trousers, socks, and boots. His hair was wet, but there wasn’t much of it, and he could keep it hidden beneath his tricorne.

De Sardet, on the other hand, looked perturbed: her hair was still visibly damp, and while she’d pulled it to one side, she was clearly unhappy. “I had hoped this could wait.”

“Look at it this way, Green Blood. At least now, we can spend tomorrow focusing on talking to Ferhat and hunting down Sir Bastien.”

“Yes, but…” She cast a longing look upstairs.

“They’ll still have plenty of hot water when we get back…well, as long as the bishop doesn’t use it all.”

“I’d hoped we could eat supper, too,” she admitted. “I’m hungry.”

“We all are,” said Vasco. “Do you think that’s part of Burhan’s angle? Have you hungry, tired from the road, and caught off-guard?”

“If this is, that’s hardly kind.”

“He’s a governor, Green Blood. He doesn’t have to be kind.”

They made their way to the palace, where they were admitted without comment. “We rarely bow down on our ships,” Vasco said as they ascended the steps. “I hope I will not embarrass you.”

“Governor Burhan is a renowned scholar,” Kurt added. “But take care – he’s also a politician, with honeyed words as dangerous as my weapons.” He grimaced; everything he’d heard of the governor had spoken of the man’s decided lack of honor.

The guards ushered them into the governor’s presence immediately. Burhan was an older man with a thick grey beard and the turban and embroidered kaftan of a dignitary of the Bridge Alliance. 

“Your Excellency, it is an honor to meet you,” de Sardet said; Kurt was impressed by how dignified she sounded, and how well she hid her fatigue. “Allow me to present my sincerest regards in the name of the Congregation of Merchants.”

“And allow me to wish you and your cousin a warm welcome to the island,” Burhan replied. He made a brief speech that Kurt mostly tuned out about the profitability of good relations between the two kingdoms, all the usual tiresome talk he had little time for.

De Sardet spoke of the malichor, and her uncle’s hopes of finding a remedy; grief did tinge her voice then, and Kurt knew she was thinking of her mother, and of her own hopes of a cure. Governor Burhan reassured her that the alchemists and scientists of Hikmet were searching for a cure, and had recently sent a group of scholars into the wilderness in the hopes of examining the island’s flora. “Alas, we’ve had no news from them for quite some time now. We are hoping that nothing has happened. We would have sent a patrol to investigate, but we cruelly lack the means to do so. The natives have proven aggressive, even hostile, to our studies, and have attacked us regularly. We are obligated to maintain all of our able-bodied men here in order to protect the city.”

_Except the ones who attacked the pretty flower’s village,_ Kurt thought. _And the ones manning your outposts._ He wasn’t sure how many regiments the Green-Azure kept stationed on Teer Fradee, but he suspected there were more than the Congregation’s three.

He could see from de Sardet’s frown that she didn’t accept Burhan’s speech, either, but she had no chance to challenge him: he was still droning on. “…but we would be happy to share with you the results of our research if—”

Governor Burhan was interrupted, not by de Sardet, but by the sound of soldiers’ footsteps outside the door. A man in the uniform of the Green-Azure ran in, breathing heavily; approaching the throne, he bowed. “Your Excellency!”

Burhan responded with outrage. “This insolent interruption is untimely and unwelcome!” he snapped, raising a finger to shake at the officer, but the man burst in with the news of a native attack that had been thwarted.

“I deeply regret, Excellency, but one of our frontier outposts has suffered a most brutal attack!”

“Report then, and be precise!”

“A troop of natives attacked us. The assault was treacherous. But a traveler informed us that the risk of attack was imminent, the guard had been double-crossed. Thanks to this providential lady, we have no casualties in our ranks to report,” he concluded, then saw de Sardet’s mark and did a double take. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Well…yes, it was,” de Sardet said, nodding, and received both the profuse thanks of the guard and Governor Burhan alike.

“The Bridge Alliance thanks you most gratefully,” said Burhan. “If you hadn’t taken the initiative, the situation would have been disastrous!” He gave the Coin Guard a curt nod. “Dismissed, soldier!”

The soldier bowed and turned to go, but stopped near de Sardet. “You saved us all, Your Excellency,” the guard said. “If not for you, we would’ve been massacred to the man. Thank you.”

“I am glad to have been of service,” she replied, and the man went out.

“As you can see, we have been facing a number of attacks on our caravans. But where was I…ah, yes. We would be most pleased to share our discoveries with our allies…if your cousin would send us a party to help us find our lost expedition. I could show you to which region they were sent.”

De Sardet agreed to that as well; she promised to speak to Constantin about it, but Kurt had no doubt that they would be venturing into the wilderness to find the lost scholars themselves. _Who else would he send? He won’t trust Commander Torsten with this, he can’t do it himself, and de Courcillon is too old to go tramping through unknown territory looking for some scholars who’ve gotten themselves lost in the woods._

“If you are of a mind to accord me another request, I would be truly grateful,” Burhan went on.

“I’m listening,” de Sardet said, and Kurt thought he detected a note of weariness in her tone.

“As you have not failed to observe, our troops as well as our caravans have been suffering incessant attacks. The merchants, including your own, are raided, often killed! And certain goods have become scarce. Captain Reinhild, who commands our outpost in the plains, has communicated her incapacity to protect them. Considering that certain of your own fellow countrymen are involved…”

“You would like me to lend a hand,” de Sardet concluded. “I will see what I can do, Your Excellency.”

“Excellent,” Burhan said, clapping his hands together. “I hope that you will be able to put an end to these caravan attacks, and perhaps save the lives of your merchants as well as our own.”

“I believe I may take a few days to rest before I venture into the wilderness to investigate these attacks,” she said, and Kurt knew precisely what she was doing: gaining time to help Vasco with his brother.

Burhan waved her off. “But of course! You have only just arrived. Take all the time you need, Your Excellency, and please return to the palace as soon as you are finished. I will not expect results immediately; I am well aware these things take time.”

_Yet you summoned her here immediately,_ Kurt thought. Again, he couldn’t help but think that Burhan had known exactly what he was doing. _He wanted her to be uncomfortable. He wanted to see how she’d react._ The guard’s interruption had complicated things, but he still got the feeling that Burhan hadn’t treated de Sardet as fairly as the Mother Cardinal. _I don’t like how he treated that guard, either._ Burhan had been genuinely angry at the interruption, and the guard had been frightened of him. _That’s no way to treat a man who’s risking his life for you. What if he’d come to tell Burhan the whole outpost had been massacred?_ Kurt grimaced. _I’d bet Burhan wouldn’t have cared either way. He didn’t give a damn about those guards._

“I will send everything that might prove useful to you to the embassy,” Burhan promised, “both the information on the caravans and the lost expedition. I would advise that you look to the caravans first; we suspect the natives may have a base of operations nearby, and the lost profits from those caravans is substantial to both our nations.”

“You do not believe the scholars are in imminent danger, then?”

“They have been missing long enough that a few days’ delay can make no difference. I suspect they may be dead anyway, murdered by the savages,” said Burhan. “By stopping the attacks on the merchant caravans, you could potentially save many more lives.”

“Then I shall do as you ask,” said de Sardet.

“As I said, I will forward all the information to your embassy. Maps of the region, the locations of known attacks on the caravans, the locations where we have discovered the bodies of those merchants slaughtered through that indiscriminate violence…as well as the information we have on the lost expedition, of course.”

“I would appreciate anything you have to give,” de Sardet replied. “I will let you know once I have completed my investigation.”

“I will be glad to hear it.” Burhan spoke for a while longer, but having gotten everything he wanted, kept his remarks relatively brief; de Sardet felt the need to reply with some pleasantries about the city and questions about the settlement, but Kurt could tell she was glad when she was finally able to bow and bid the governor a good night.

“You’re a hero, Green Blood,” he said after they’d left the throne room. “You kept those natives from killing those men.”

“Siora won’t appreciate it, but Governor Burhan certainly did,” Vasco added.

“I didn’t do it for him,” she replied, then caught herself. “We are allied with the Bridge, of course, and I will be happy to help them…but I thought only of the lives that might be lost, not of Governor Burhan’s pleasure. I hope Siora will understand that.”

“The natives will be less likely to trust you, now that you’ve thwarted their attack,” Vasco pointed out. “They’ll surely know that you told that guard of the scout. Hopefully we will not have reason to regret it.”

“I don’t regret it,” she replied. “I cannot, knowing how many lives it saved.” She paused. “But we will find Bastien before we venture into the wilderness, either to find those scholars or to learn of what has become of these caravans.”

“We will,” Kurt agreed, “but I’m sure you’ll want a good meal, a hot bath, and a good night’s sleep before we do any of it.”


	54. Family Reunion

The next day, Vasco was awake and dressed by the time Kurt came downstairs, pacing the floor.

“You know, Green Blood would’ve gotten up earlier if you’d asked,” Kurt pointed out.

“I know, but I didn’t want to bother her. She’s already going to enough trouble on my behalf.”

“You’re going to wear a rut in the floor if you keep that up.”

Vasco stopped pacing, but he frowned, nervously adjusting his tricorne. “It didn’t seem real before now,” he admitted. “The idea that I have a brother…that I’m going to meet him today…”

“It would be nice to have a family,” Kurt admitted. “Someone to care about, who cares about you. I’ve had comrades in the Guard, friends…but it’s not quite the same.”

“It isn’t,” Vasco agreed. “I’ve had crew I cared about, and they say all Nauts are sea-siblings, but I know it’s not the same. I’ve heard volunteers talk about the families they left behind – most volunteers don’t come to sea because they have loving families, but some have lost the people they loved, and more have seen what a family is supposed to be like, even if they didn’t have that for themselves.”

“I used to imagine having a family of my own, the way that the land-dwellers do…well, some of them,” Vasco corrected himself, and Kurt knew it was his acknowledgment of Kurt’s own lack of family. “I’d think of having parents who loved me, and maybe a brother or a sister, sometimes both. I always wanted an older brother, someone who’d look out for me, who would have protected me from the worst of the treatment I got, both in our barracks and at sea. It was a child’s fantasy, I know, but—”

“Every kid wants a family,” Kurt acknowledged. He thought of the nights he’d spent missing Clara, when he’d first been taken from her, and the nights in the ghost camp when he’d wanted nothing more than to go back home. _Every dying soldier wants their mother._ “There’s no shame in that.”

“If you could meet your parents, would you?”

“My parents are dead. The Coin Guard doesn’t hide its files from its recruits; there’s no reason for it. When I was old enough to request it, I saw my own file; once I knew their names, I asked. I knew that if they were alive, they didn’t want me anyway; there was no reason to give me to a wet-nurse if they didn’t. But I found out they were both dead, killed in action in Theleme’s war against the Bridge.”

Kurt shrugged. “But if they were alive? Maybe I would. I wouldn’t expect anything from them, though. The only loving mother I ever knew was that wet-nurse, and she died of the malichor the year after she gave me over to the Guard.” He thought again of those blurry memories of Clara, of warm soft arms and a kind voice. “If I could see her again, though? I’d do it in an instant. And if I’d learned from those files that I had a brother or a sister, I’d want to meet them.”

“Even if they weren’t part of the Coin Guard?”

“If they were noble, you mean? Rich?” Kurt snorted. “I can’t imagine they’d want anything to do with me if they were, but I’d still want to meet them.”

“Even if you thought they might look down on you because of your guild?”

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “What makes you think I’d give a damn about what they thought?” He met Vasco’s eyes, and saw the conflict there. “You shouldn’t, either, sailor. Your guild made you what you are, the same way mine made me. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of being a Naut,” Vasco answered. “I’ve never been ashamed of that. I may have my disagreements with how my people do some things, but there’s freedom in being a Naut that no noble of the Congregation would ever have, and there’s so much I love about it, and about the sea. De Sardet was right: being a noble is complicated. I see that more and more…not just spending time with her, but hearing her speak of her own upbringing. Whatever happens with Bastien today, I’m grateful for everything she’s done.”

“She’d do the same for any one of us,” Kurt said.

“She turned the bishop down when he asked for help,” Vasco pointed out.

“With blackmail and interfering in politics, not something personal,” Kurt said. “I’m glad she did. She’s too honorable to want to do anything like that.”

“I was surprised she said no. She doesn’t seem the sort to turn anyone down when they ask for help…especially not when it could help her cousin.”

“Constantin doesn’t need that kind of help,” Kurt replied. “Besides, he’s as used to the politics of the court as she is. He can hold his own. He’s smart enough that if he wanted to scheme, he’d be good at it.” _I doubt he’d have half of Green Blood’s scruples._ Constantin had more than a touch of his father’s vengefulness, without any of Augustin d’Orsay’s iron self-control. “He’s never tried, mostly because I don’t think he wants to do anything that would remind himself of his father – and maybe because he knows how much it would disappoint Green Blood if he did.”

He paused, thinking of Vasco’s tendency to poison his weapons, along with his keen insight and leadership skills. _He cares more about winning than honor, and the Nauts don’t promote fools._ “You would’ve made a good noble,” he offered. “You’d have done well at that court of theirs.”

Vasco raised an eyebrow. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Is that how you see nobles?” Kurt countered. “If you think that me telling you that you’d be a good one is an insult?”

Vasco frowned. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “That says a lot about me, doesn’t it? Though, if I can ask – what did you mean?” 

“You’re perceptive, intelligent, and not above doing whatever you need to in order to win, if enough is at stake,” said Kurt, nodding to Vasco’s rapier, and the vials of poison on his belt. “You’ve got a sharp tongue and a quick wit, and His Highness says you can be charming when you want to be." He shrugged. "Me? I’d never make a good noble. I don’t talk enough, and when I do, I say what I think. Most nobles talk a good game about caring for their honor, but when it comes down to it, they’re happier paying lip service to it than actually having any. Green Blood’s the exception to that.”

“I hope that Bastien is an exception as well,” Vasco answered. “It might be foolish of me, but I can’t help but hope that he’ll be…well, something like de Sardet. I keep thinking of how she’d greet a brother who’d been given to the Nauts. If Bastien could be half as understanding, half as kind…”

“I hope for your sake that he is,” said Kurt, and meant it. _I never thought about what it would be like to have a brother or a sister, but I spent half my childhood wishing I could have stayed with a loving family._ Coming to Serene had only reinforced that; he’d seen Jeanne de Sardet’s love for her daughter, and wished he could have stayed with Clara. _If she hadn’t gotten sick, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I’d have grown up with her, and only joined the Guard when I was old enough to make the decision for myself._

Siora came downstairs then, and Vasco drifted away. “The _on ol menawi_ told me that the _doneia esgregaw_ attacked the outpost patrol,” she said. “She said they were driven away, but did not know if any were killed.”

“That’s right,” Kurt told her. “The soldier only said that they didn’t suffer any casualties. He didn’t say anything about the natives, and Governor Burhan didn’t ask.”

Siora frowned. “If she had not spoken—”

“—then a lot of men would be dead now,” said Kurt. “I know you’re at war, and I know you wish they’d have won their fight. But she did the right thing. Ambushing men on patrol isn’t honorable.”

“It was necessary!”

“Why? What are their aims? Their strategy? Their goal? Killing men in battle to accomplish a goal is one thing, but killing them for no purpose—”

“It would terrify them,” Siora said. “If nothing else, it would make them afraid. That is a good enough reason – but how can you ask? You know what they have done. They take our people.”

“Are these patrols taking your people? Do they know anything about it?” Kurt shook his head. “You know they don’t. Killing them doesn’t help get your people back, or help you find where they’ve gone or what the Bridgers are doing with them. Vengeance isn’t a goal, pretty flower.” He paused. “You should know she’s promised to look into the attacks for the governor. He wants to stop the killing, and so does she. You know she won’t want to kill anyone; she’ll try to talk to them. But she may need your help. Are you going to be willing to give it?”

Siora sighed. “Yes,” she conceded. “I do not agree with what she did, but I understand. Alexandra will try to make peace. I do not know that she will succeed…but I will go with her when she does.”

“Thank you for that,” Kurt said.

“You do not want your people to die for the lions either,” she said. “It still seems strange to me that your warriors fight and die for them, but they do not believe what the lions believe.”

 _Sometimes it’s strange to me as well,_ Kurt wanted to admit. He was loyal to the Coin Guard, but the time he’d spent with Constantin d’Orsay and Alexandra de Sardet had made him loyal to the Congregation of Merchants, as well…and, more specifically, to his charges. _If the Guard asked one thing of me and Green Blood another, what would I do?_ He hoped he would never have to find out. _The Guard would never ask me to be disloyal to the Blue-Silver. I serve the Coin Guard, and the Guard serves the Merchant Congregation; that’s all there is to it._

“Good morning,” de Sardet’s voice came, drawing him from his thoughts. “Kurt, Siora, Vasco. Where is Petrus?”

“Polishing that armor of his, maybe,” said Kurt.

“Arranging his helmet?” Vasco added wryly.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said. “It isn’t as if he can accompany us. Vasco, I’ve made inquiries, and found Monsieur Ferhat’s address. Are you ready?”

For a moment, Vasco couldn’t speak. “I am,” he managed.

“Then we’ll eat breakfast and leave immediately,” de Sardet replied.


	55. Bastien

Vasco was nearly consumed with anxiety as they moved through the city. _This is it,_ he thought. _This is the day I meet my brother._ He knew that his parents were still alive: de Sardet knew that much, and had reassured him by pointing out that Bastien would have been the Prince d’Arcy had his father been dead. _But they are on the continent, and Bastien is here._ He thought of the palace in Serene. _If all goes well, I could meet them. Maybe Bastien would agree to introduce me._ He let himself imagine a return voyage to Serene, Bastien in the passenger’s cabin, getting to know him over the course of months. _I wonder if he would participate in our crossing celebration._

Vasco had imagined it before, on the journey to Hikmet, and he let himself picture it now: Bastien learning about the Nauts, eagerly asking questions about the life Vasco had lived among them, while also teaching Vasco about the life he’d led as a nobleman. _Maybe he’s always wanted a brother. Maybe we could teach each other about the lives we’ve lived, compare memories. Maybe he’ll be glad to find me._ He could imagine Bastien’s emotion at learning he had a brother, his anger at the Congregation for having forced his parents into signing such a contract. _He could tell me about my parents…our parents. Maybe he had the childhood I always dreamt of. Maybe his parents were as kind as de Sardet’s mother._ Despite what de Sardet had told him about Bastien as a child, he couldn’t help but hope that he would find a brother who was truly everything he had hoped for. _She did say it had been a very long time, and people change…especially children. I’d hate to be judged on my behavior as a cabin boy._

Vasco said little as he, Kurt, and de Sardet moved through the city, searching for Monsieur Ferhat’s house. As it turned out, it was not very far from the Port Quarter, and as Vasco passed the Nauts and their warehouses, he could not help but feel a pang of homesickness. _My people,_ he thought, and wondered where the _Sea Horse_ was. _How are my crew faring without me? Is Ruben a good captain?_ He suspected that poor Jonas would need to wait a little longer for his tattoos: after all, it was the ship’s captain who determined when a cabin boy could become a full sailor, and that usually meant at least one full voyage with a new captain before he deemed the cabin boy worthy. _I thought he was nearly there. He needed a little more work with reading charts, but I was helping him, and he was improving._ Jonas was better with the practical work of sailing: tying knots, climbing the spars, hauling sail. _But a Naut has to have at least a basic grasp of how to use our instruments before he can call himself a sailor, and he has to be able to read a chart and mark out a course. As long as someone keeps tutoring him, he’ll be there soon enough._

 _I hope Ruben will keep helping him._ He knew little of Captain Ruben, save that the man was sea-born, ambitious, and arrogant, from a family that had produced several captains and at least one admiral; they had met on a few occasions, and he hadn’t liked the man. _I hate the thought of giving him my ship. Of all the captains who might have taken it, why did Admiral Cabral have to give it to him?_ He hoped Ruben was treating his crew well. _I don’t know if he’s the sort of man to use the lash for discipline, if he’ll be patient with Jonas, if he’ll make sure to take care of the ship…_

“Vasco?” de Sardet asked gently. “We’re here.”

He startled as he looked to the door. _This merchant may be the key to finding my brother._ “Thank you.”

They entered, greeted by a harried-looking clerk who pointed them upstairs. As they moved through the hallway to the stairs, Vasco glimpsed an alchemist’s laboratory through one door, a clerk’s office through another, and a storage room filled with potions through a third. _House d’Arcy deals in potion-making and medicines, then,_ he thought. He understood that the house had many business ventures with the Bridge Alliance, but he was surprised to learn that alchemy was one of those ventures. _I’d expected something…nobler, I suppose. Spice-trading or those woven carpets or some sort of fancy cloth._ Potions seemed somehow ordinary, though Vasco knew there was a great deal of money in them. _I’ve seen the manifests for transporting that sort of cargo, and know how much those crates are insured for._ He also knew how much those potions cost: the Nauts would often take a share of health potions as their fee for transporting potions as cargo. _I’m sure some of the poisons for my blade come from a similar sort of fee._

 _I wonder if Bastien has any interest in potions._ Vasco knew little of the art, though he’d heard de Sardet express an interest, and knew that she was capable of brewing simple potions for herself. _She’s stopped more than once to gather ingredients on the road._ He admired her for that: he suspected that most nobles would have considered it beneath them. _I hope Bastien will be more like de Sardet than a typical noble._

He found himself thinking that once more as de Sardet stopped on the landing as they ascended the stairs, placing a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Vasco nodded. “It isn’t as if we’re going to find Bastien upstairs,” he managed. “Only this merchant.”

“I hope Monsieur Ferhat will be able to give you the answers you seek. If he can’t, we will not give up, I promise you.”

 _I know you won’t,_ he thought, as they ascended the remaining steps. He had seen the lengths that de Sardet was willing to go to in order to help others. _Jonas was nothing to her, but she rescued him. Most nobles wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help that native hunter, let alone risked their lives for him, especially when Torsten made it clear that helping him was a political quagmire. And Kurt’s recruit…that isn’t over, I’m sure. She won’t give up until she’s learned the truth. De Sardet wants to help others, that’s who she is, but the lengths she’ll go to in order to help a friend…_

 _A friend,_ he thought, startled by the thought. _Are we friends now?_ Alexandra de Sardet had been at his side, volunteering information, sharing her own stories, and listening to him with endless kindness. _She’s made me think about who I am…helped me realize that I may want to meet my family, but I don’t want to lose my connections to my people, either. I only hope that Bastien will be able to accept me as his brother._ He tried to picture the moment of that introduction, what he would say, what Bastien would do. _I’m your brother, Léandre. The Nauts renamed me Vasco, but I was born Léandre d’Arcy._

He shook off the thought as they entered the well-appointed office at the top of the stairs. Inside, they found a well-dressed man with dark brown hair and fairly nondescript features, sitting at an office desk. 

“Hello, sir,” de Sardet said as the man rose to greet her. “Is this the house of the man called Ferhat?”

“It is I,” he replied in Congregation-accented tones. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re searching for Sir d’Arcy,” de Sardet replied. “He was supposed to come here to do business.”

Ferhat’s attitude changed at once: he frowned, his expression taking on a sour cast, and his tone became more abrupt. “Yes. Yes, he did come here. But…I don’t know where he is. To be honest, our exchange did not exactly go as planned…” He drew himself up. “And if you are his associate, or a member of his family, know that you owe me a large sum of money!”

“How so?” Vasco couldn’t help asking. _A member of his family. I wonder what he would do if I told him that de Sardet wasn’t related to Bastien…but I was. Try to get money out of me, probably. I don’t know that he would care._ Ferhat was not a noble; he was a member of the Congregation’s merchant class, likely wealthy, but not as astronomically rich as the greatest princely families, or anywhere near as well-respected. The merchant families of the Congregation ranged widely in wealth: there were those who intermingled with the princely families, sometimes intermarrying with them, and some who were barely a step above the farmers, laborers, and craftsmen who made up the bulk of the Merchant Congregation’s population. From the look of him, Vasco suspected that Ferhat was somewhere in the middle: respectable enough to do business with the House d’Arcy, but not wealthy enough to be considered respectable by the nobility.

 _He still considers himself above me,_ Vasco thought as he saw the look Ferhat gave him as he looked him over: his eyes narrowed slightly, his upper lip curling back in contempt. _He’s a merchant of the Congregation living in Hikmet; he’ll have dealt with Nauts. Had to take a Naut ship to get here, and he’ll take another when he wants to go home. Yet he doesn’t want to lower himself to talking with me._ He suspected that Ferhat was the sort to have a clerk deal with any face-to-face conversations with the Nauts. _He’s not even a noble, and he looks down on me._ Again, he could not help but contrast Ferhat’s behavior with de Sardet’s, thinking of her enthusiasm during the crossing celebration. _A merchant who acts like a noble, and a noble who acts almost like a Naut._

In the end, Ferhat chose to answer his question, though he looked to de Sardet as he did so, making it clear he was addressing her. “Well, this d’Arcy fellow came here to take this shipment, and he was supposed to deliver me a promissory note.”

“Which never arrived, I imagine?” de Sardet asked. “How could you let him leave with your merchandise without payment?”

“Well, he is the son of a very well-known family. I did not deem it necessary to try to obtain more guarantees.”

Vasco couldn’t help but worry. _Madam Clerc said he was overdue to return, and he went missing after obtaining the merchandise but before leaving a promissory note. What if something happened to him?_ He was well aware that cutpurses and bandits roamed the streets of every city he’d ever visited, and that the cities of Teer Fradee were no different from the ones on the continent in that respect. _He had merchandise, and he’s a noble…one without a Coin Guard escort, from the sound of it. What if he was robbed? They could have beaten him and left him to die in an alley somewhere…if they didn’t realize who he was._ He remembered the tale of Constantin’s abduction. _He’s a d’Arcy, a member of a prominent family. What if they found out who he was and took advantage of that?_

“What if something happened to him?” he blurted. _If I learn that my brother was robbed and murdered and I was too late to stop it…to think that I might have spent years looking for my family only to have it end like this…_

“Nothing happened,” Ferhat said quickly. “At least, I don’t think so. Why should that concern me, I’m not his brother!”

The words struck Vasco. _But I am,_ he wanted to say.

“He owes me money and I do not have the slightest idea of where he might be!”

 _He’s lying,_ Vasco thought. _Or, at least, he isn’t telling the whole truth._ He had always been talented at reading people, and he could see the small signs that gave away Ferhat as a liar: the way his gaze darted away from de Sardet’s, the twitch of his eye, the way his hands flexed involuntarily. 

From the way de Sardet’s eyes narrowed, she thought so too. “I suspect that you are not telling us everything,” she said carefully.

“Oh, come on!” Ferhat snapped. “If you have not come to repay his debt, leave me alone so I can work in peace!” With that, he pointedly turned his back on them, sat down at his desk, and began examining a sheaf of papers with exaggerated discourtesy.

Vasco’s first impulse was to tear the man out of his chair and shake the truth from him. _He might talk more with a pistol in his face. If anything’s happened to Bastien..._

A hand on his shoulder startled him from that thought. “Come on, sailor,” Kurt said, very quietly. “We’ll find the truth.”

“He’s lying,” Vasco snarled as they hit the steps. “He knows something more, something he isn’t telling us.”

“That might be the case, but killing him won’t solve anything.”

“I wasn’t thinking of killing him.”

“Only threatening him until he tells the truth? You can’t do that to Green Blood. Not after the trouble she’s gone to for you.”

“We’ll find the truth, Vasco,” de Sardet promised him. “I do think you’re right, and that Monsieur Ferhat knows more about what happened to Bastien than he’s saying…but Kurt is right as well, in that threatening him will not help matters.” Her gaze fell upon a beleaguered alchemist working in the laboratory. “Perhaps he will be able to help.” She led the way into the alchemy laboratory; the man, clearly a Bridge Alliance citizen: the blue silk turban, dark beard, and small pair of pince-nez spectacles all identified him as such.

“Greetings,” said the man; he had a haughty accent and a sour look on his face. “If you’ve come to do business, look upstairs…if there’s any business left to do.”

“Why do you say that?” Vasco asked.

“They haven’t been paying me, and I’ve had to work with cheap ingredients for weeks!”

“What do you do here, exactly?” de Sardet asked.

“I create and prepare complex potions. Not simple health potions, but far more subtle things!”

“And, if I’m not mistaken, things are not going the way you want them to.”

“The boss has always been difficult, but ever since he got ripped off, it has been a living hell! I work using leftovers thrown away by all the other alchemists, while listening to him screaming at me and everyone else all day! This is no way to live!”

“Have you heard of a man called Bastien d’Arcy?” de Sardet asked.

The alchemist gave an exasperated sigh. “It would be difficult not to! His name is the only thing my boss talks about! Apparently, he did not pay for one of our shipments, and still left with the goods! And now my boss makes me work twice as much to compensate for the losses – with ingredients I wouldn’t even feed to a pig!”

De Sardet managed a sympathetic look. “And what did your boss do?”

“Well, he spent every waking hour cursing his name, that’s how I learned about it!”

“How can a brilliant, conscientious alchemist keep working here? I am certain that any great laboratory in town would welcome you with open arms, so why continue protecting your employer?”

The alchemist let out a sigh of absolute disgust. “You’re right! Anywhere is better than here.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice before leaning in. “My boss did not only curse the name of the man you’re looking for, he also hired some thugs to find him and our shipment…”

Vasco’s blood boiled. _That conger eel,_ he thought, fighting the urge to sprint back up the stairs and put the point of his rapier against Ferhat’s throat. _Nothing happened, he said, the filthy liar._

He reined his temper in. “Interesting,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I think we may need to have a few words with your employer.”

“If you could also tell him that I am resigning, then I won’t need to go upstairs!” The man took off his gloves, throwing them on the table next to his potion, and turned off the flame; he did not wait for a reply before moving past Kurt, Vasco, and de Sardet, almost skipping out of the room with relief.

De Sardet, Kurt, and Vasco exchanged glances. “Let’s go speak with him,” said de Sardet.

“Speak, sailor. Not eviscerate,” Kurt added as they moved up the stairs; Vasco had to fight the urge to take the steps two at a time, and he was at de Sardet’s side as they moved into the room.

Ferhat looked up in irritation as they entered. “You again? I already told you that I do not know where the man you’re searching for is!”

“You may not know where he is, but you did everything you could to find him. Didn’t you?” Vasco demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” said de Sardet. “There’s no point in denying it, one of your employees told us everything!”

“What? But…why are you meddling in my business, anyway?”

Vasco couldn’t contain himself. “You could have taken legal action and retrieved what you owed, but you sent some killers instead!”

“I doubt the governor would approve,” said de Sardet, and Vasco saw Ferhat staring at her birthmark. For once, she hadn’t introduced herself properly, and he wondered if the merchant was only now realizing who she was. “Do you want us to tell him about it?”

“No,” Ferhat stammered, and Vasco knew he’d made the connection. “But please understand me! The d’Arcy family is on the continent. It would take months for them to reply to my complaint! What other solution was there? My shop will not survive this!”

“Tell us who these debt collectors are, and we’ll take care of it,” de Sardet advised.

“They loiter in an alleyway of ill repute not far from here, in the science district…” Ferhat gave them more detailed directions; Vasco noticed that he turned slightly red as he explained their favorite haunt was sandwiched between a seedy tavern and an illicit brothel.

 _Not the Coin Guard’s, no doubt._ Coin Guard taverns and brothels were never in the best neighborhoods, but the establishments themselves were well-run; the Guard ensured that only willing men and women were recruited as prostitutes, and while the Guard took a cut for the rental of the stall and the clothing provided, there were no pimps or madams to skim earnings. _And only a fool starts trouble in a tavern or a brothel that’s manned by soldiers, even if most of them are too wounded to continue in active service._

“They have the reputation of a gang that gets the job done,” said Ferhat. “They said that they would take their cut from Sir d’Arcy…whatever was left after I got my share back. They said they knew how to make him pay.”

De Sardet fixed him with a severe look. “If any harm has come to Sir Bastien, as a citizen of the Congregation, you will be held liable as an accessory to the assault…or murder, if it has come to that.”

 _Murder._ Vasco imagined rushing to save his brother, only to find him a lifeless body in some alleyway. _To come so close to finally meeting my brother, only to have the reunion torn from me...if Bastien is dead, I swear I'll make this man pay for it, him and the thugs he hired._

“Only a gang of fools would murder a noble,” Kurt offered; Vasco thought it was for his benefit as much as de Sardet’s. “There’s more money in ransom than murder, and that’s all they care about.”

“They’re no different from the Coin Guard, in that respect,” Ferhat said, clearly trying to justify himself. “They’re hired thugs, men and women who are willing to do violence for coin.”

“Except the Guard has honor,” Kurt said. “We don’t commit murder for hire.” 

“Don’t you? What are you going to do to those thugs I hired, then?”

“Get them to stand down, if I can. Defend the legate, if I can’t.” Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “It isn’t murder if they attack first.”

“I hope they have more sense than to attack a legate of the Congregation,” said de Sardet. “Do you think that you could call them off, Monsieur Ferhat? Would you care to accompany us?”

“I doubt they’d listen! Their pay only comes from Bastien. That’s what we agreed on! To get anything, I have to get my shipment back.”

“That’s what I feared,” Vasco rasped. “Probably a bunch of cutthroats…if Bastien survives…”

“If he survives, remind him of what he owes me!” Ferhat said.

De Sardet paused. “Would you like to come with us, sir?” she asked icily. “If you could call them off…”

“I cannot,” Ferhat admitted. “I doubt they’d listen to me. Our agreement was that they would only be paid if they recovered my merchandise…and that they could loot whatever they would as long as I had that. His possessions, his clothes, any jewels or coin…any ransom they might have wished to try to extract from Madam Clerc or another representative of the house…it was all up to them! But I have no leverage over them now.”

“Then we’d best find them, and fast,” said Vasco.

As they left, de Sardet tossed a final comment over her shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, your employee asked us to inform you of his resignation…goodbye, Monsieur Ferhat!”

“You could have told him which employee, Green Blood,” Kurt pointed out as they raced down the stairs and through the hall.

“He’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure,” de Sardet replied. “I thought we’d spent enough time there.”

“We need to find them,” said Vasco.

“Hold up, sailor,” said Kurt. “We might be heading into a fight, and Green Blood’s not dressed for it.” She was wearing her finest doublet, which was a rich deep blue embroidered with golden trim and a bright white cravat. “Don’t you think we should go back to the embassy so you can get your armor?”

“There’s no time,” said Vasco, and Kurt bristled.

“How long has he been missing? It isn’t as if they’ve just abducted him. If those thugs have him, one hour won’t make a difference.”

“You can’t know that.”

“If it’s the life of Green Blood or some worthless noble who stole some goods—”

“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” Vasco snarled. “Watch yourself.”

“The man’s a stranger to you.”

“Kurt! Vasco! Stop, please,” de Sardet begged. She looked to Kurt. “We’ll go find Vasco’s brother.”

“But—”

“I was wearing a similar doublet when we rescued Constantin,” she reminded him. “I hope that I will be equally successful in talking these cutthroats down.”

“And if you aren’t?”

“Then I’ll protect her,” said Vasco.

Kurt looked almost affronted. “And you think you’ll be able to do that if you see this brother of yours has been wounded or is in danger? Which of them would you put first?”

Vasco knew he had a point, though he was loath to admit it.

“You’ll protect me,” said de Sardet, looking to Kurt. “I know you will.”

“And if I can’t? Constantin will kill me.”

 _He’d never forgive himself,_ Vasco couldn’t help thinking. _It’s not Constantin he’s worried about._ “De Sardet can hold her own in a fight,” he said aloud. “I promise you, if we go after Bastien now, I’ll look to her safety as much as you will.” He hesitated. “If you want to go back to the embassy to get your armor, do so; I’ll go on ahead and try to find him.”

“Now there’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Kurt scoffed. “Those bandits won’t fight honorably.”

“Neither will I.”

“We’re wasting time arguing,” de Sardet interrupted; that was enough to silence Vasco immediately. “We go together.”

Kurt heard the finality of her tone as well as Vasco, and didn’t offer further argument as they raced along the streets, moving toward the disreputable alleyway that Ferhat had described. As they drew nearer, Vasco’s heart began to pound in his chest, and not only because of the exertion: he could hear rough-accented voices mingling with one higher-pitched noble one.

“—will give you everything you’ve wanted,” he heard the noble begging. “Please.”

Vasco didn’t wait: he barreled ahead of both Kurt and de Sardet, bursting into the alleyway. “Hey, you! Leave this man alone!” he shouted as he saw the thugs Ferhat had hired to settle the debt: a pair of them were talking to each other while a third held onto the struggling Bastien.

 _My brother,_ he realized. He’d had only a glimpse of Bastien’s face before he was forced to turn his attention to the ruffians, but it was enough. Vasco was of average height at best, and Bastien was shorter still, a few inches shorter than de Sardet and perhaps half a foot shorter than Kurt. Bastien’s hair, eyes, and complexion were all darker than Vasco’s, but there was enough of a general resemblance that Vasco knew who he was at a glance. _The shape of our eyes, our brow, our nose, even that widow’s peak…it’s him, I know it is._

He had no time to dwell on it; one of the ruffians was speaking. “What do you want? No one asked you for your opinion, so get lost!”

“Maybe he’s friends with the weakling,” the other scoffed.

“Maybe. In any case, it seems like he wants to share his fate!”

“You think I’m afraid? I’ve fought uglier people than you!"

Vasco thought of going for his pistol, but before his hand could move, he heard de Sardet speak: she and Kurt had finally caught up with him. “Vasco, let me try to take care of this.” She turned to face the bandits. “How much money are we talking about? You’re here to collect a debt, right?”

“Between what he owes our client and our commission, it’s a hefty sum,” said the bandit who seemed to be their leader, a craggy-faced woman who was short and stocky, with blunt features and a rough-edged accent. “But if you want to pay in his stead, my lady, please do!”

“How much does he owe?” de Sardet asked.

“Oh, just a trifle…two hundred golden florins.”

De Sardet straightened, lifting her chin as she looked the woman in the eye, and Vasco had to admit that he was always impressed by the change he saw in her. _She’s not your typical noble, but she knows how to act the part._ The soft-spoken, kind-hearted woman vanished, and in her place was a lofty noblewoman, one he would well have believed was the niece of the Prince d’Orsay and heir to one of the noblest houses in the Congregation.

“I don’t think you realize who you are dealing with,” she said, “so let me introduce myself.” She smoothed down her doublet, drawing attention to the finery; glancing from de Sardet to the bandits, Vasco realized that their garb was only a poor imitation of her own, meant to convey wealth and respectability. “My name is de Sardet. I’m the legate of the Congregation, and I’m here to save the life of one of our citizens. If you do not deliver him to me immediately, I will have no choice but to inform the governor.”

“And you’ll end up rotting in jail in no time,” Vasco interrupted, unable to help himself; he knew that de Sardet was capable of handling the matter on her own, but part of him wanted to do something to help save Bastien. _I must admit, part of me wants nothing more than for them to provoke a fight._ He wanted to charge in to save the day, to introduce himself to his brother as the man who had helped save his life. 

It was, he realized, a selfish and unworthy thought. _It would be better if de Sardet can talk them down. Kurt is right; she’s not wearing armor, and any battle would put her life at risk…not to mention Kurt’s._ The woman wore a pistol at her hip, and gunplay in close quarters was always dangerous. _I don’t have the right to ask that of them, especially not because I have some foolish dream to play the knight in shining armor, the noble prince come to rescue a damsel in distress._

When the gang grimaced and glanced at each other, he breathed a sigh of relief rather than disappointment. “Damn it, they look serious,” said the scruffy-looking man who seemed to be the woman’s second-in-command; his gaze darted from Kurt to Vasco before returning to his partner.

“Yes, a bit too much,” the woman agreed. She looked to de Sardet. “Listen, we don’t want to get in trouble with the governor, so take him!”

“Yeah, if our client wants to get repaid, he will have to make an official request!” The man gestured to the third ruffian, who’d loosened his grip on Bastien a little, but was still holding him fast. “Come!”

That third ruffian, who seemed to be the muscle of the operation, frowned and grunted before releasing Bastien, giving him a shove forward. Bastien stumbled and fell; as he did, the ruffians rushed out, apparently not wanting to give de Sardet time to reconsider either fighting them or turning them into the governor.

Bastien had landed on his knees in the dirt; de Sardet began to step forward to help him up, but saw that Vasco was doing the same and backed off. To his disappointment, Bastien didn’t seem to notice; he got to his feet quickly, brushing himself off, his attention focused entirely on Alexandra de Sardet.

“Thank you for your intervention. I thought those brutes would kill me!”

“Don’t mention it,” said Vasco. “It’s only natural!” He couldn’t help but frown as Bastien didn’t respond; he didn’t even seem comfortable looking at him. _He won’t notice how much we look alike because he won’t look me in the face._ He’d dealt with such nobles before, men and women who seemed to believe that even speaking directly to a Naut was an affront to their refined sensibilities.

His heart sank. _I thought Bastien would be different._ Suddenly, his dreams of a heartfelt reunion seemed utterly foolish. _I should have known how it would be._ He’d spent over a decade sailing on ships, seen dozens of nobles transported. _I know how they are. I should have known this is how it would be._

“But how did you end up in such a situation?” de Sardet asked.

Bastien brightened as he turned toward de Sardet; he seemed relieved that she’d addressed him, saving him the trouble of having to respond to a Naut. “Oh, I’m certain that someone like you, who belongs to high society, will understand!” Bastien gave de Sardet a once-over, his gaze lingering on both the richness of her doublet and the contours of her body. Both de Sardet and Kurt noticed: Vasco saw the way de Sardet shifted in discomfort, tugging at her doublet as if to pull it more closely around her, while Kurt’s jaw clenched in anger, a protective look coming into his eyes.

Bastien was oblivious to both, his gaze focused on de Sardet, but certainly not on her face. “There is a game table here that is attended by the best of the aristocracy,” he said. “I lost the money owed to that merchant while playing there. And, since I got out with a few other debts, I had to leave the merchandise as repayment as well.” He shrugged, as if the sum was of little consequence, and waved a hand airily. “But that’s a sum my father would have paid for without thinking twice…”

Vasco heard the way he emphasized the words ‘my father,’ and the casual contempt as he spoke of Monsieur Ferhat. _Two hundred golden florins for the debt, and the merchandise was worth just as much. Four hundred pieces of gold._ The sum was enough to ruin Ferhat, a middling merchant who could not afford such a loss, yet Bastien clearly thought it nothing. _He has no idea of what an ordinary man earns, or how much anything costs. He doesn’t care about what he’s done to that merchant, or to any of the workers he employs; more likely than not, he hasn’t thought of them at all._ He wondered if Bastien had seen any of them while at Ferhat’s, or if he’d ignored them the way he was ignoring both Kurt and Vasco now.

To his surprise, it stung less than it might have; in fact, he felt a strange sense of relief. _If I’d been raised as a noble, would I be like him?_ The thought made him shudder. _He’d have been my older brother…the older brother I’d love and look up to, who I would aspire to be like._ Looking at Bastien, he didn’t feel a sense of loss for the life he hadn’t lived; instead, he felt a sense of relief, for the man he hadn’t grown to be.

Bastien was still complaining to de Sardet, glancing over his shoulder to where the ruffians had stood. “I never would have thought that someone would send these types of brutes after me! What a lack of tact!” Again, he looked at de Sardet, and suddenly seemed absurdly self-conscious of his appearance: he smoothed his rumpled shirt, running a hand along his queue, and flashed what he obviously thought was a charming smile at de Sardet. “In any case, I am extremely grateful to you! To whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

De Sardet’s nonplussed expression was almost enough to make Vasco burst out into laughter despite himself: Bastien clearly thought himself charming, but de Sardet was somewhere between bewildered and repulsed.

“The legate already introduced herself,” said Kurt, folding his arms across his chest.

Bastien lifted his head haughtily, and Vasco couldn’t help but think of the way that de Sardet had threatened the debt collectors. _Except with her, it’s all an act,_ he thought. Alexandra de Sardet knew how to use her nobility to persuade or threaten others, but she only did so in order to help. _Bastien is everything I thought she was when we first met._ The contemptuous look in his eye as he glanced at Kurt, looking him over without ever looking him in the eye, was the same one that Vasco had seen in the eyes of a dozen nobles aboard the _Sea Horse_.

“I did introduce myself to those debt collectors, but Sir Bastien was rather occupied at the time,” said de Sardet, and Vasco saw the hint of a smile that played at the corners of her lips as she exchanged glances with Kurt. She turned to Bastien. “We have met before, though it has been a very long time…it was at my uncle’s court. You were one of the boys who had lessons with my cousin, I believe.” She turned her head slightly, and Bastien finally seemed to notice de Sardet’s birthmark. Vasco saw the recognition come into his eyes just as de Sardet said, “I am Lady Alexandra de Sardet, legate of the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee, daughter of Princess Jeanne de Sardet and niece to His Serene Highness, Prince Augustin d’Orsay.”

Bastien’s mouth opened and closed; he was still staring at de Sardet’s birthmark. She pretended not to notice. “This is Captain Kurt of the Coin Guard; perhaps you will remember him? He was the master-at-arms for the palace in Serene; here, he is the captain of my cousin’s guard, and is responsible for seeing to my safety as well as Governor d’Orsay’s. I know you remember Constantin.” She smiled sweetly, and Vasco half-wondered if she was enjoying Bastien’s obvious discomfiture.

 _After the way he leered at her before, I wouldn’t blame her._ Bastien was entirely wrong-footed now, unable to muster a reply, and de Sardet turned to Vasco. He saw the questioning look in her eye, and knew what she was asking. _Do you want to introduce yourself, or shall I?_ And, the larger question: _How are you going to introduce yourself?_

He opted to speak…and, as he did, he knew precisely what he wanted to say. “My name is…Captain Vasco,” he said, and as he spoke, he knew he’d made the right decision. “Naut and sea-given.” He looked at Bastien, but Bastien did not look back; as he’d done with Kurt, he averted his gaze, refusing to meet his eye.

 _My brother,_ he thought, and knew then that Bastien was no such thing. _My brothers and sisters are the Nauts I serve with._ He thought of Alexandra de Sardet’s kindness, of the friendship she’d offered him long before he’d done anything to deserve it. _She’s been a better sister to me than Bastien would ever be a brother._ He suspected he knew what Bastien’s reaction would be if he revealed his heritage, and had no desire to bring that scene to life.

“It was a pleasure, sir!” Vasco told him, but Bastien didn’t respond; instead, he turned back to de Sardet, bowing.

“Will you be returning to New Serene soon?” de Sardet asked him.

“I suppose I must,” Bastien sighed, and Vasco could not resist a remark.

“Did those ruffians steal your doublet, or did you lose your shirt at that gaming table as well as your merchandise and your promissory note?” Kurt looked amused, and Vasco could see de Sardet’s confusion. _She still thinks I’m going to tell him who I am. She doesn’t realize that I already have._ In his place, Vasco doubted that de Sardet would have done the same; she would have introduced herself anyway, hoping to be loved. _She’s only ever known a loving mother…and I suspect she would like to think the best of her fellow nobles, despite knowing the truth about them._

Bastien was clearly offended, but Vasco wasn’t sure which was the greater offense: that he’d referenced Bastien’s losses, or that he’d dared speak to him at all. “Those brutes stole my clothes,” he said, tugging again on his shirt. “They left me with only this…they even took my hat!”

“Are you able to return to New Serene?” de Sardet asked. “If you are truly in dire straits, the embassy could lend you the necessary funds…or you could travel with us. We were not planning to return to New Serene immediately, but I suppose that I could explain to Governor Burhan that I will be unable to assist him for a few days, as a citizen of the Congregation requires my aid.”

Again, Vasco knew what she was trying to do. _She’s giving me time, if I want to travel with Bastien before introducing myself…maybe even hoping we might get to know one another._ But he’d seen more than enough of Bastien d’Arcy, and knew with calm clarity that he had no desire to prolong the acquaintance. _I’ve already introduced myself; he knows exactly who I am, and so do I._

“If you’d like to give him the funds to travel with a caravan, you should do so, but we shouldn’t keep the governor waiting,” said Vasco. “We’ve promised him that we’ll investigate what’s going on with the merchant caravans…you know, the attacks that the natives have been making, slaughtering the merchants and all those traveling with them.” He pretended not to see Bastien blanch. “And there’s the matter of that missing expedition you’ve promised to look into…no, de Sardet, we can’t be spending our time ferrying nobles back and forth to New Serene.”

“Are you sure?” de Sardet asked carefully, and he could see that she knew the real meaning of their conversation. “I trust your judgment on this matter.”

Vasco nodded. “Certain. We shouldn’t waste any more time here.”

“Waste?” Bastien demanded.

“We saved your life today, and I’ll admit that was worthwhile,” said Vasco. “As I said, glad to have been of service. But the legate has more important matters to attend to…and I cannot imagine that you would be pleased with the idea of accompanying us while we track down an encampment of native warriors or while we search the wilderness for a missing expedition…especially as the legate’s other companions are a native _doneigad_ and a bishop from Theleme who happens to be their ambassador to the Congregation.”

“A _doneigad_?” Bastien’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar word.

“One of their shamans,” Kurt offered. “Uses magic like none you’ve seen. Calls vines from the earth.”

“A shaman. And a priest.” Bastien’s frown deepened. “A savage and one of those moralizing prigs of the Light. Those are your companions?”

“Yes,” said de Sardet. “Bishop Petrus, Princess Siora, Captain Kurt, and Captain Vasco.”

Vasco could see him thinking. _A priest, a native, a captain of the Coin Guard…and a Naut. Hardly the company he wants to keep._

“Don’t you have anyone else with you? Anyone noble?”

“I would consider Bishop Petrus to be of noble rank, and Siora is the daughter of the late Queen Bladnid, _mal_ of the village of Vedrhais,” de Sardet began, but Bastien cut her off.

Bastien let out a false, forced laugh. “That is certainly not high society! And not the company I would have expected a lady of your station to keep.”

De Sardet made a point of smiling warmly at both Kurt and Vasco. “They are the best company,” she replied. “Captain Kurt and Captain Vasco are both dear friends, and I am glad to have them at my side.” The look in her eyes grew sharp. “But I assume that your opinions mean you will not be joining us?”

“No,” Bastien stammered. “I’m afraid not.”

“If you stop by the embassy, I will leave instructions that your passage to New Serene will be paid for…not given to you, but pre-paid to the merchant caravan you will travel with, so that we will not have to rescue you from any other…debt collectors.” De Sardet’s voice had become polite but utterly chilly; she cut Bastien down to size with every word. “I will expect you to remit payment to Monsieur Ferhat. It would not do for a nobleman of the Congregation to fail to meet his business obligations or honor his word.”

“But – he tried to kill me!”

“He will also be punished,” said de Sardet, and Vasco expected she would keep her word. “But you will not ruin his business, and the lives of all those who work for him, over a gambling debt.”

“A debt of honor,” Bastien insisted. “Surely you understand—”

“A lord of the Congregation does not incur debts he cannot pay; nor does he fail to uphold his word. That would be the height of dishonor,” de Sardet replied, and her tone was utterly icy. “You will repay what is owed…or I will make sure that my uncle and your father are both made aware of that failure. Is that clear?”

Bastien nodded, abashed, and de Sardet turned. “If you’re sure,” she said to Vasco, very softly.

“I am.”

With that, they made their way out of the alleyway, leaving Bastien to collect himself as best he could. De Sardet retained her coldly furious expression until they had left the alleyway and exited onto the main street; then, her look of aristocratic fury dissolved into one of warm concern.

“Thank you, de Sardet,” he said, and saw concern turn to confusion.

“My pleasure…but why didn’t you tell him who you were?”

“But…I did tell him,” Vasco replied, putting words to the feelings he’d had when seeing Bastien. “I was stupid. I resented everyone, and you even more, for the life I didn’t get to live. You had it all…everything I thought I was entitled to. But after seeing Bastien, I realized that in the end, I was exactly who I wanted to be…a Naut, and a proud one at that." He thought again of his brother. _He is everything I hate about the nobility, and everything I might have been. If being raised as a noble meant that I would have ended up like him…_ Vasco suppressed a shudder. _I’m glad I’m a Naut. I wouldn’t trade the life I’ve led for the one that Bastien leads now._

De Sardet smiled. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “No more regrets?”

“No more regrets,” Vasco agreed, and found he truly meant it: any trace of jealousy or resentment had washed away completely, as if carried by the tide. He cracked a smile. “And I certainly don’t regret not being called ‘Léandre d’Arcy!’”

That brought a guffaw from Kurt, and de Sardet’s smile grew wider. “I’m glad,” she said. “Though I am sorry that Bastien was not the brother you had hoped he would be.”

“I was never going to get the reunion I dreamt of from him,” Vasco acknowledged.

“Your parents might still feel differently,” de Sardet ventured. “I know that you have no regrets about the life you’ve led, but if you still want to learn more about them, or if you’d like to meet them, I would be happy to facilitate an introduction whenever we return to Serene.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think meeting Bastien has given me enough of a taste of what my family was like. They gave me away, and clearly they haven’t had any regrets,” Vasco answered.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Kurt. “With a son like Bastien, don’t you think his parents have had second thoughts about the son they gave away? I’m sure they’ve had plenty of times they wish that they’d given away Bastien and kept you.”

“I’m glad they didn’t,” Vasco replied, and meant it. “I’m happier aboard a ship than I could ever be in Bastien’s place. Give me a ship to sail and the open horizon, and I’ll be happier than I could be in a mansion or a palace.”

De Sardet didn’t seem entirely convinced. “I’m sorry he was so unkind. I know that you had hopes of finding a brother who would welcome you…who would be the family you never had. I understand not wanting to be part of the nobility, but…I had hoped Bastien would be a better person, for your sake.”

“That’s very kind of you, de Sardet,” said Vasco, and was surprised at how well she understood him. _Part of me wanted to grow up with all those luxuries, but what I truly wanted was a family, and the idea of the life I would have had with them._ Meeting Bastien had disillusioned him. “But it’s helped me realize a few things. If my family hadn’t given me to the Nauts, I might have grown up rich, but I wouldn’t have had the family I wanted…and all the wealth in the world wouldn’t make up for missing out on the life I’ve led as a Naut.”

“If Bastien had been a better man…if he’d been more like you…I think I would still have introduced myself as Captain Vasco of the Nauts, but I would have told him I’d been born Léandre d’Arcy. If he’d been a different man, it would have been interesting to compare the lives we’ve led, and to learn more about my parents, and any other family I might have. I still wouldn’t want to leave my people or be called a d’Arcy, but…if my brother had been a person worth knowing, I would have liked to get to know him.” Vasco shook his head, dismissing the last waves of wistfulness and wishful thinking. “There’s no point in dwelling on what might have been. I’m a sea-given without a family, the same as I’ve always been, and Bastien is…well, Bastien.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a family?” de Sardet asked. “It seems to me that your family is aboard the _Sea Horse_. Flavia and Lauro, Jonas and Gustavo, Bianca, Bruno, and Paulo…”

“The Nauts do say our family is our crew,” Vasco acknowledged. “But I am a captain without a ship, and have no crew at present.”

“I think your crew would beg to differ,” de Sardet replied. “You spent years as their captain; they won’t forget you so easily.”

“And your admiral might let you back on your boat, now that you’ve decided you’re not going to start going by Sir Léandre d’Arcy,” said Kurt. “That’s why she sent you ashore, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Vasco acknowledged. “Though I must admit, as homesick as I am, I would be sorry to leave you.” He looked to de Sardet. “I am truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I know it seems pointless, that we came all this way and I didn’t tell Bastien who I was or why we’d come, but…you’ve helped me realize that I am who I want to be. Destiny may have made me a Naut, but I would not have it any other way.”


	56. Merchant Caravans and Scholars' Camps

They dealt with the investigation into the attacks on the merchant caravans with surprising ease; de Sardet mourned when they found a newly-slaughtered caravan, the merchants’ bodies dragged from the road, and was concerned when the path led them to the rebels Siora called the _doneia esgregaw_ , the standing men.

“Careful, Green Blood,” said Kurt; she, Kurt, and Siora had gone to investigate, leaving Vasco and Petrus to protect their own wagons. Neither man had particularly wanted to be left behind, but de Sardet knew that they could not risk having their own supplies taken and destroyed, and she did not want to leave one of them alone with the wagon for fear that the natives would think them an easy target. “You tipped off the Bridge about their attack. They won’t be happy about that.”

He was right: the native who de Sardet had seen in the bushes was there, and spoke even before she could introduce herself. “I’ve already met this strange _renaigse_! She saw me when I was watching the lions’ camp, and she warned them against us! It’s her fault if our attack failed!”

“Really? I warned the garrison only in the hope of avoiding unnecessary bloodshed on both sides,” de Sardet protested. “But you, you knew you’d been discovered and still decided to attack! If there are victims, you are the ones to blame.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when the leader of the _doneia esgregaw_ nodded in agreement. “She’s not wrong! You acted foolishly, and our men paid for it. Don’t search for others to blame!”

De Sardet spoke to her about the attacks on the merchant caravans; like Siora and Eseld, the _doneia esgregaw_ leader reiterated that the Bridge Alliance was abducting ordinary villagers, especially the _on ol menawi_ , those who had a facial marking like de Sardet’s. “They capture them and we never see them again,” the woman said. “We don’t know what they are doing to them, but we are going to release them!”

“I see,” said de Sardet. “But our merchants have no role in this. They are not warriors. So why kill them?”

“They brought food and weapons back to our enemies. We could not let them pass. If your merchants had fled, we would not have pursued them. But they resisted, so they died.” De Sardet learned that the _doneia esgregaw_ had believed that the merchants were the only supply line to Hikmet; when Siora spoke of the Bridge Alliance resupplying by sea, they were obviously chagrined.

“I fully understand why you are fighting. I’m even ready to help you clear up these disappearances, so long as you spare our merchants,” de Sardet offered, but now it was her turn to be chagrined: the _doneia esgregaw_ reassured her that they were done with their attacks, as they were nearly ready for a larger offensive against the Bridge Alliance. _I cannot do anything to stop them now._ She hoped that she might be able to negotiate a peace, as she had intended when she had accompanied Siora to _did e kiden nadageis_ , but her current mission was at an end. _Governor Burhan will not be pleased._ She accepted the _doneia_ _esgregaw_ ’s reassurances that their merchants would be safe from further attack.

“Now is the time for war,” their leader proclaimed, her face set in anger.

De Sardet could not help but remember the aftermath of the battle between Queen Bladnid’s forces and the Bridge’s. _I saw things there I will never forget._ “I’m afraid you’re heading straight into a massacre,” she admitted, remembering the piles of bodies, the smell of the battlefield: blood and burning flesh, gunpowder and feces, the alchemical tang of grenade residue and smoke. _The smell of death. I hope never to experience anything like that ever again._ “But since you promise me our caravans will be spared, I have fulfilled my mission.”

“Go in peace! We should prepare ourselves,” the _doneia esgregaw_ leader replied, and de Sardet departed.

“There will be war between the lions and our people,” said Siora. “You cannot stop it, _carants_.” She frowned. “I only wish that the _doneia esgregaw_ had organized sooner. If we had come together sooner, if Matir had been the High Queen…” 

“I did not know your people had a High Queen,” de Sardet answered, surprised. “I thought your villages were ruled by individual _mals_.” Sir de Courcillon’s lectures had not spoken of any overarching ruler on the island, and Lady de Morange had never mentioned dealing with one.

“Our High King, Vinbarr, has not been seen for many cycles by anyone save the _mals_ , and it has been many moons since they last saw him,” said Siora. “Some think he has returned to the earth, or that he has answered the call of _en on mil frichtimen_ , but _Matir_ always said that if he had, _en on mil frichtimen_ would have sent a vision to all the _mals_ to let them know it was time to elect a new leader. Glendan would have called us all together.”

“ _Matir_ stood for High Queen, the last time there was an election. She nearly won, but they said she was too young, too inexperienced…and she favored war with the _renaigse_ , even then,” Siora admitted. “Vinbarr did not like the _renaigse_ , but he wanted to wait and watch, and to see if _en on mil frichtimen_ would guide us. He won…and he began spending more and more time in the wilderness, seeking to commune with _en on mil frichtimen_ , until one day he left his village and did not return.”

“ _Matir_ despised him for that. What good is a leader who will not lead? If she had been High Queen, she would have united our people against the lions long ago. She would have driven them from Tir Fradi.”

“And what of anyone else?” de Sardet asked. “The Bridge Alliance is not the only kingdom with a settlement on this island.” 

“ _Matir_ would have driven off the mind-shakers as well. I do not care what they say, she would never have made a pact with them that gave them our souls in exchange for their aid…she would have made sure they respected our beliefs!”

“Would she have done the same for the Congregation? Would you?”

“You know I would not,” said Siora. “You are my _carants_ , and you have helped my people…helped me. As long as your people respect mine, and as long as they respect the earth, they will be welcome here.” Her expression darkened. “But if they treat my people as the _bod_ _airni_ did that merchant and his cousin, or if you help the mind-shakers and the lions…” Siora reined herself in. “I know you would never do such a thing, _carants_. But I fear not all of your people are the same.”

“I know they are not,” de Sardet admitted. “But I hope that the Congregation can prove itself a worthy ally.” They came to the side of a cliff overlooking the valley beneath; the sun was just beginning to set, and the vista was breathtakingly beautiful. “Your island is lovely. When I first saw it, I could not explain why, but I felt as if I had finally come home…as if I too had a connection to your land.”

“You are _on ol menawi_ ,” Siora observed. “Have you never felt that connection to your own land?”

“Never,” de Sardet said. She remembered the strange feeling of connection that had surged over her when she had first glimpsed the island, the feeling of belonging. “But the land in Gacane is nothing like your land here. The air, the water, the land…all of it is polluted. The skies are often choked with fog, and you could never see the stars the way you can here.”

“That is terrible,” Siora said. “I cannot imagine it. How could your people poison your land? It would be like poisoning yourself. You would kill your own god.”

“The priests of the luminous faith say that their god is not of this earth,” de Sardet replied. “He is a being of light, who exists in everything, but is beyond everything as well. They speak of him as a ray of sunlight, the stars in the sky, the Sun itself…but it is all figurative, of course. They do not believe that the Illuminated is actually a star or a beam of sunlight.”

“Then they are fools,” said Siora. “ _En on mil frichtimen_ is in everything…the water, the air, the earth, in the plants that grow and the rain that falls, in the animals that populate Tir Fradi, in ourselves. What affects us affects _en on mil frichtimen_ , and what affects _en on mil frichtimen_ affects us.”

“We’re nearly back to camp,” Kurt pointed out as the wagon came into view. “Best not have this discussion around the bishop, unless you want to pick a fight.”

De Sardet was relieved to find Vasco and Petrus were fine; they had passed an uneventful afternoon guarding the wagon. “I only hope that our quest to find the scholars goes as easily,” said Vasco when Siora related what had passed between them and the _doneia esgregaw_.

“War between the Bridge Alliance and the natives can only benefit Theleme,” said Petrus. “I cannot say I am sorry if the natives choose to turn their wrath on the Bridge Alliance.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Father,” Kurt warned him. “If they win their war against the Bridgers, they’ll be coming for you next.”

“They have no reason,” Petrus replied, affronted. “My people live in harmony with the natives.”

Siora bristled. “Your people murdered a _nadaig_ in your town square and you dare say you come in peace?” 

“That inquisitor strangled a native in front of us,” Kurt agreed. “Choked him to death with his bare hands.”

“Aloysius’s methods are regrettable,” Petrus agreed, “but he should not represent our people.”

“And that scene in the town square?” Vasco asked. “If you don’t get the inquisitors under control, I wouldn’t blame the natives for driving you off.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll admit, my people have never been fond of your inquisitors. They’re always acting as if they think we’re heretics…they’d gladly burn their share of sailors if they had the chance.”

“But why?” de Sardet asked.

“On account of our sea-magic,” Vasco said, his voice laden with irony that de Sardet did not quite understand. “They seem to think it heretical…yet they do not have any qualms about using our services.”

“The Nauts are protected from the Ordo Luminis by the terms of our agreement,” said Petrus.

“Yes, but it doesn’t stop them from trying things,” said Vasco. “I always had to tell my crew to be especially careful when we stopped at Lacillion or San Andrea. The Ordo Luminis might not be able to prosecute us for being Nauts, but they still tried to take people under false pretexts whenever they thought they could get away with it.”

“I hope that the Ordo Luminis will not try anything of the sort on Teer Fradee,” said de Sardet. “I would be happier if they were not on the island at all.”

“I believe we all agree with that, my child,” Petrus replied. “The Ordo Luminis…I must believe that their intentions are good, but I do not agree with the way they choose to practice their faith, or the fanaticism that sometimes blinds them to the truth. We will never convert the natives if they insist on killing them.”

“And what if the natives do not wish to be converted at all, man of the light?” Siora demanded. “We do not want to worship your god of the magic lamp.”

“I believe you will feel differently once you have had the chance to learn more,” said Petrus. “In any case, Theleme does not wish to force your conversion, only to open your ears to the word of the Enlightened, and let you decide for yourselves.”

De Sardet intervened. “Theleme has sent missionaries to the Congregation for years without attempting to force our conversion,” she said, not wanting to think of her mother’s lectures on how Augustin d’Orsay had walked a fine line for decades, believing that conversion would lead to a loss of sovereignty, playing Theleme off of the Bridge Alliance in order to further the Congregation’s aims. “My mother often spoke with priests of the missionary orders; I believe she took comfort from their beliefs. But she never formally converted, and they never pressed the matter…nor did my mother expect me to hold those beliefs.”

“In the Congregation, we believe that faith is fundamentally a private matter, and that everyone has the right to worship freely, as they choose, whether that is the god of the luminous faith, the sea-gods the Nauts are rumored to worship, or no god at all.” De Sardet hoped that would be enough to close the matter; she had no desire to mediate a fight between Siora and Petrus.

She was relieved when they let the matter drop; she knew that their next task would be even more divisive. _Bringing together Siora and Petrus to help look for a missing group of Bridge Alliance scholars…_

Governor Burhan was pleased when she relayed that the caravan attacks would cease, though Captain Reinhild was less so when she learned that de Sardet had let the natives leave unharmed. “They will not attack the caravans,” de Sardet persisted. “That’s what matters.”

“There were three of us, and the legate’s a diplomat from the Congregation,” Kurt defended her. “The Congregation isn’t at war with the natives, and it’s not her place to start one. She did what Burhan wanted.”

Reinhild still frowned. “You could have told us where they were. We could have wiped them out.”

“I told you of their attack when I saw their scout. They were equally unhappy with me for that,” de Sardet replied. “I will not help you kill each other.” She sighed. “I only hope I can find those scholars before the natives do. We know the _doneia esgregaw_ are willing to attack noncombatants. If they believe that the scholars are serving as scouts or spies…”

They spent only another day in Hikmet, laying in provisions, before venturing out into the wilderness. The documents Governor Burhan had provided included maps directing them toward the region the scholars had planned to examine.

“I’ll miss the embassy’s luxuries,” de Sardet admitted as they left the city. “The feather-down bed, the hot running water, that bathtub…”

“Maybe you can convince Constantin to fit the legate’s house with piping,” Kurt suggested. “The palace, too, while you’re at it.”

“I hope we won’t be gone for long.”

“With any luck, we’ll find these scholars alive and well, huddled up in some camp in the hills,” Kurt suggested. “We’ll have to make a camp of our own before we go for a hike.”

They ventured into the wilderness. It was a pleasant day, and de Sardet gathered ingredients for potions from the plants she found by the roadside. “Are you interested in plants, my child?” Petrus asked.

“A little. I’ve always enjoyed the study of alchemy. I’ve dabbled a little in making my own potions, though I’m not as talented as I’d like to be. I’ve been working on improving since I came to Teer Fradee.” She smiled. “I’m thinking of setting up a laboratory in the spare parlor, back at the legate’s house. There are so many rooms meant for entertaining, I’ll never use them all. I’d like to have a place I can mix potions.”

She didn’t think anything more of it until that night, when they were gathered around the fire. “What do you enjoy?” she asked them. “I’m going to set up a laboratory when we return to New Serene, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do for the rest of you to help the legate’s house feel more like a home.”

“I would appreciate a space that could be used for worship,” Petrus suggested. “I have no objection to praying in my room, but I currently lack the space for an altar.” 

“How do you lack the space for anything?” Kurt asked.

“I have only a single room,” Petrus pointed out. “Not counting the bathing room, of course. It isn’t as if the legate’s house features a suite for each guest.”

Vasco and Kurt exchanged glances. “You should see the size of my cabin on the _Sea_ _Horse_ ,” said Vasco. “The captain’s cabin is a fraction of the size of the room I have here…and I have the largest room on the ship. Not many Nauts get a private place to sleep.”

“It is strange,” Siora agreed. “My people would all sleep in our homes together. There is no sleeping room, and we bathe in our rivers; we do not bring the water into our houses.” She paused. “But if you would like to make your home more welcoming, you should plant a garden. There are not enough birds in your city, and I miss the sound of their song. I can show you which plants will bring them…and some of them are even plants that you can use for your elixirs.”

“I would like that,” de Sardet acknowledged. “I know I cannot bring the sea to you, Vasco, but is there anything else I could do?”

“That library of yours is a fine one, but it lacks certain genres,” he said. “I know books are expensive, and hard to come by on Teer Fradee…but if you’re really asking, I wouldn’t mind if you found another volume of poetry or two. I think I’ve gone through everything you have there.”

“It wouldn’t be much,” de Sardet acknowledged. “I’ve never been fond of poetry. But I will keep my eyes open.”

“If you can’t, I wouldn’t mind having a gaming board. A chess set, perhaps, and maybe some cards or dice.”

“We can certainly find one of those in Hikmet, I’m sure,” said de Sardet.

“Or I could make one,” Kurt offered. “I’ve made gaming boards before; it’s not hard. Depending on how detailed you want the pieces, it wouldn’t take long at all.”

“Do you enjoy that?” Vasco asked.

Kurt nodded. “I’ve always liked making things,” he said, and de Sardet thought of the beautiful wooden marker he’d made for Reiner’s grave. “It’s relaxing.”

She knew then what she would get for Kurt. _There’s a workbench in the legate’s house already, but he should have better tools, perhaps a leather apron and some gloves for working, some sort of helmet with a visor to protect his eyes…I could put it in the same space as my own laboratory, the parlor is large enough._ The thought pleased her. _It will help to make that house feel more like a home. Petrus can have his altar, Siora her garden, Vasco a few more books._ “Maybe when we get back to New Serene, you can show me how to make one,” she suggested to Kurt.

“I’d like that,” he said.

But, before that, they had to find the scholars. The next day, Kurt suggested they venture into the hills. “They’d want to make their camp there, not down in the swamp. Burhan said they were in this area.”

His instincts proved good: after only a few hours’ wandering, they came upon a large open clearing. De Sardet saw the tents from a distance, torn open and ruined. “Look,” she said, and took off at a run. The others followed her.

She came to a dead stop in the middle of the ruined camp. _There’s no one here. What happened? Are they dead? Did the natives find them?_

They all knew the answer to her last question. “Magic is the miracle of the Enlightened. This resembles the sorcery of the natives,” Petrus said of the vines that had risen from the earth to tear their way through tents and equipment alike; Siora nodded in agreement, while Kurt scoffed at the camp itself.

“A camp here? In the open wind? It was _definitely_ set up by scholars.”

De Sardet found the journal of one of the naturalists, which mentioned a woman by the name of Aphra who had set up her own camp farther away. _It says she did not get along with the others._ “It seems that one of the team kept a distance from the others. Let’s see what we can discover…”

Unfortunately, their first discovery was a trail of blood leading away from the camp. They followed it, only to find that animals had gotten their first; they were able to fend them off easily enough, but that left de Sardet with other misgivings.

“Could they have been massacred, do you think? If the wild beasts arrived here first, and ate the bodies…”

“They’d leave some remains, Green Blood. Animals may scatter the bones, even break them open for the marrow, but they don’t eat them whole,” said Kurt, in a tone of absolute certainty.

“And there would be more blood, and more signs that they’d dragged the bodies away,” Siora added.

“Look,” said Vasco, pointing. “I think I see something there.”

“A corpse…its clothes cannot be mistaken,” said de Sardet, heavy-hearted as she followed him to the body. “It is a scholar of the Bridge Alliance. From the looks of him, I would say he has been dead for days…as we already thought. This isn’t the woman whose journal we found. There’s a chance she’s still alive.” For some reason, that made her feel better: while she hadn’t known any of the scholars, she found herself hoping the woman had survived. _I pity this man, but I know nothing about him._ The expedition leader’s journal had made her curious about the lone scholar who had seemed to understand what was happening. 

Kurt joined them, staring down at the body. “This man is unarmed, and from the position of his body, I would say he was fleeing. It is not honor that motivates them…maybe it was vengeance.”

“Of course it was vengeance,” Siora said. “These lions steal our people and murder us when we try to fight back.”

“But not these lions,” said de Sardet. “These scientists were unarmed, as Kurt says. They could not defend themselves.” She looked to Siora. “Would you have killed them, if you had been the one to find them?”

Siora met her eyes, and then looked away, down at the man’s body. “Not like this,” she said. “At least, not since I have known you. If I had not met you after _Matir_ ’s death, if you had not convinced me to spare the lion we found near her banner…then I might have,” she admitted, sounding ashamed. “I would not have seen the difference between an unarmed lion and one of their warriors.”

“But you did spare that soldier we found,” de Sardet reassured her.

“You have plenty of reasons to look for vengeance, but make sure you’re avenging yourself on the right person,” Kurt told her. “If you do that, you can have your revenge and keep your honor.”

“Sometimes you have to let go of a desire for vengeance, if there is to be peace,” Petrus spoke up. “If Lady de Sardet is able to broker a ceasefire between the Bridge Alliance and the natives, or perhaps even a peace treaty…”

“That seems an impossible task, now,” de Sardet replied. “The fighting between the _doneia esgregaw_ and the Bridge Alliance was one thing, but the _doneia esgregaw_ were made up of disaffected warriors from many clans; from my understanding, only Queen Derdre had supported them, and she has not yet led her storm warriors in open battle against either the Bridge or Theleme. Queen Bladnid raising her people into an army and openly declaring war on the Bridge Alliance was an escalation in that conflict, and if Theleme chooses to involve themselves on the side of Vedrhais, it will add an additional layer of complexity to any negotiation.”

“It sounds to me like it would make peace impossible,” said Vasco.

“I don’t want to give up, but…” De Sardet sighed. “I hope we can find the expedition alive. If the _doneia esgregaw_ have killed them, then there will certainly be no prospect of peace for the immediate future.” She knelt. “I’ll search the body. We might find something to help us understand.”

They continued exploring, and soon stumbled upon a lone tent, set up in an out-of-the-way crevice. “Isolated. Discreet. Perfect visibility. A great choice,” Kurt said, examining the camp: the tent was still intact, and de Sardet wondered aloud if its inhabitant might have escaped the attack.

“Look,” said Petrus, gesturing toward a trunk that was hidden in a rocky crevice near the tent. “You said that you discovered a key?”

De Sardet nodded and knelt, fitting it to the lock. It opened, and she found a diary within. “Should I read it?”

“Of course,” said Petrus. “If you have any qualms about searching through someone’s private correspondence, reflect that what you learn there may prove crucial to the rescue of this entire expedition…including the author of that diary.” He smiled. “If you prefer, I will read it; I have no such scruples.”

De Sardet looked through the diary: it had many insightful observations about the plant life nearby, as well as speculation on the medicinal properties of those plants, and more than a few sketches. “This diary’s author seems very talented,” she said. That author, the Aphra mentioned by the expedition leader’s journal, expressed curiosity about the natives, and then a growing sense of foreboding as she realized those natives were watching them, as well as frustration with her colleagues for refusing to recognize their danger. “The writing stops in mid-sentence.” The scrawl of the pen contrasted with the earlier neat handwriting suggested that Aphra might have been writing up until the moment of the attack.

“A woman of sense and practicality,” Kurt said admiringly once de Sardet had finished relating what she’d read. “I like her already.”

“She may have been part of the Alliance, but I can’t help feeling bad about what happened to this woman,” said Petrus, looking around. De Sardet thought that the sight of the unarmed scholar who’d been stabbed in the back had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

 _He is not without compassion for his enemies, as much as he might wish to pretend otherwise._ While Petrus had a deep-seated dislike for the Bridge Alliance, de Sardet thought that he might have less enmity toward the individual men and women who were part of that country.

They all agreed that they would have the most luck finding the expedition in the swamp; the native attackers seemed to have come from that direction, and also seemed to have retraced their steps.

“Here,” Siora said. “There is a narrow path through the rock. The _doneia esgregaw_ must have come this way.”

“Let’s follow them,” said de Sardet, and descended.


	57. Into the Swamp

Making their way through the swamp quickly became an exercise in misery: the water went from ankle-deep to calf-deep to waist-deep in areas without notice, the mud tugged at their boots, and trees and plant matter blocked their path at every turn. The air itself seemed to grow thicker as they descended into the swamp, and de Sardet soon realized that the water, the air, and her own body felt like they were the same temperature: unbearably hot, with so much humidity in the air that it almost felt as if she was inhaling the swamp water itself.

“Should we try to go around?” Vasco asked.

“How can we? The natives must be here somewhere,” she said. “We have no choice but to continue our search.”

But the search was fruitless that day, and as day turned to dusk, Kurt insisted that they make camp away from the swamp, backtracking to the camp they’d set up that morning. “If there are natives here, we don’t want to be attacked in the middle of the night, on ground they know better than we do,” he said, and de Sardet had to admit he was right, even if it meant they would have to retrace their steps in the morning. “We should go back to the wagon. I hope it’ll still be there.”

It was, although it was well after nightfall by the time they found it. They had a cold meal that night, rations from their stores in the wagon, and fell asleep as soon as they had erected their tents.

The next morning, instead of going back up to the scholars’ camp and then down the passage, they approached the swamp from a different angle, descending the hill near their camp. This led to a series of hot springs that fed into the swamp, a gentler introduction to the mire that awaited, but they quickly saw that there was another obstacle.

“A _nadaig vedemen_!” Siora exclaimed. “Don’t hurt it!”

“We may not have a choice, pretty flower,” said Kurt as the guardian lurched forward. “It’s seen us.” It was unlike the guardian de Sardet had faced in Serene: this one had long tentacles coming from its face, and a lumbering gait that was deceptively slow.

“We must retreat!”

“Siora, we cannot,” said de Sardet. “If the scholars are somewhere in this swamp, we must find them.”

“Are you certain you wish to continue this search?” Petrus asked; a day in the swamp seemed to have dimmed his sympathy for the missing scholars considerably. “We could report to Governor Burhan that this demon must have killed them, if the natives did not.”

“It is not a demon! It is a guardian of my people! The _doneia esgregaw_ would have known to avoid it.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Vasco warned, and then the creature was upon them. “A little poison on my blade, and let’s go!”

They charged forward. Kurt and Vasco charged in, one darting in to attack with his sword while the other provided a distraction. Meanwhile, Petrus recited a spell of protection, and de Sardet circled the creature from a distance, hoping to get a stasis spell in to give them all a brief respite.

A moment later, they were all surprised to discover that the creature could make a sweeping attack with its tentacles: both Kurt and Vasco were thrown back into the swamp. De Sardet knew that Vasco’s armor was fairly light, but worried about Kurt: she’d heard his lectures on the dangers of heavy armor in water before, and hastened forward, keeping one eye on the creature. Petrus and Siora were both flinging spells at it, providing sufficient distraction, though she was glad to see that Kurt was already getting to his feet.

“I’m fine, Green Blood,” he said, waving her off, but she could see he wasn’t: he seemed unusually slow to react, his words were slurred, and his hands were shaking.

“Poison,” she heard Vasco say; turning, she saw he was shaking his own head, looking queasy as he examined one of his own trembling hands. “It’s poisonous.” 

She felt around for the potions she had on her belt, finding an antidote: she didn’t have many, and made a mental note to stock up. _I was not expecting to use them here,_ she thought. _The briefings I received from Sir de Courcillon said that the poisonous creatures resided in caves or trees, were more bat-like in nature, and sprayed a fast-acting venom that depleted one’s strength._ Of course, she was certain he hadn’t been expecting her to encounter a guardian. “Here,” she said, dividing that phial between Kurt and Vasco. “I only have a few more, so we’ll have to be careful.” Raising her voice, she turned and shouted, “Father Petrus! Siora! The creature is poisonous! Take care that you don’t—”

Her warning was cut off as she saw the guardian move forward in a strange attack: it seemed that it half-fell, half-lunged toward Siora, belching a noxious-looking cloud as it did so. _The poison,_ de Sardet thought. She had seen a little of the sickly-shaded cloud wafting around Kurt and Vasco as they had fought, but this was a veritable fog; for a moment, she couldn’t see either Petrus or Siora. When the fog cleared, she saw Petrus standing on the opposite shore, his magic swirling about his hands: he flung another burst of shadow at the creature, and it staggered back, clearly wounded. De Sardet felt a wave of relief as she saw the priest had escaped injury.

That relief vanished as she realized that Siora was on her knees in the swamp. “She needs help!” de Sardet said. She flung a stasis spell at the creature, and as it froze, she looked at her other companions.

“Go help her,” Kurt said. “We’ll take care of the creature.”

“Be careful,” she told them both. “If I have to use all the antidote on Siora—”

“Go,” Kurt urged her as the creature broke out of the spell; it seemed highly resistant to her best efforts, more than any opponent she’d ever encountered, save perhaps the other guardian in Serene.

De Sardet rushed forward, just in time: Siora had been fighting the poison’s effects, but as de Sardet reached her, she fell face-first into the swamp. Grabbing her, de Sardet pulled her back, dragging her up onto to the bank; Siora coughed, then vomited up swamp water, her limbs jerking and trembling.

“Here,” de Sardet said, and emptied an entire phial of antidote down her throat; that left only one in her belt. She wasn’t sure if any of the others had any, but wouldn’t count on it: as Kurt was quick to remind her, the Coin Guard didn’t waste expensive potions on its soldiers, and she thought it was likely that Petrus would rely on spells instead of elixirs. Vasco, who poisoned his own blade, might have a vial, but she didn’t want to rely on that assumption. She followed the antidote with a healing potion; the antidote was a general one, used on the continent, and she could only pray that it would work for the guardian’s poison. Siora did seem to look better after the antidote had been administered; the spasms in her arms and legs stopped, and her breathing became less ragged.

“We’ve got it!” she heard Vasco shout in triumph; looking up, she saw Kurt take a swing with his massive sword, cutting the tentacles from the creature’s face in one great blow. A final blast of shadow from Petrus, and the creature fell dead in the swamp, drenching all three men.

“I’d put a bullet in its head, but after that, you know the powder’s drenched,” she heard Vasco say.

“Never fear, my son. Magic will work even when bullets do not,” Petrus said.

De Sardet didn’t pay attention to them; she was entirely focused on Siora. “Siora,” she said, panicked. _What will I tell your sister? You can’t leave her alone. Please wake._

“ _On ol menawi_ ,” Siora replied, opening her eyes. They were still unfocused, but de Sardet was relieved to see she was conscious and well enough to speak.

“Do you need another healing potion?”

“No. I will be fine.” To de Sardet’s astonishment, that much seemed true: Siora was rapidly improving. “I am _on ol menawi_ ; the bond gives us resistance to poisons, and helps us draw strength from the earth. I would have been overcome if I had stayed in that cloud of poison, and I might have drowned if you had not saved me, but our bond with _en on mil frichtimen_ gives us a greater ability to recover than those who have no bond with the earth.” Siora blinked, looking at the body of the _nadaig vedemen_ that lay face-down in the swamp a good fifty feet away. “The poison of the _nadaig vedemen_ is more potent than any other on Tir Fradi. I have never experienced anything like it.”

“I’m so glad you’re all right.” De Sardet reached forward and gave Siora a hug. “I was so frightened when I saw you disappear into that cloud of poison!”

“I will be fine, _carants_. Thank you.” Siora’s gaze clouded with sadness as she looked to the dead _nadaig_. “I wish that we had not had to harm it.”

“We had no choice. It attacked.”

“And we could not retreat, because you are intent on finding these missing lions.” There was more than a hint of resentment in Siora’s voice, and de Sardet frowned.

“They are scholars, Siora, unarmed scientists who do not know how to fight. You saw the body of the man we found near the camp; he was fleeing.”

“I know,” Siora conceded. “But they were in our land, and they have stolen our people before. Who is to say they were not trying to do the same now?”

“If they were trying to abduct your people, why would they be so far from any settlement? The journal we found spoke only of taking samples of plants, and spoke of wishing for a peaceful exchange with the natives. We can question them when we have found them, but until then…”

Siora’s expression was still unforgiving. “It is their fault,” she said. “These lions. If they had not come here, this _nadaig_ would not have died. They invade our sacred places, take our people, and expect us to accept this without question.”

“How are you, pretty flower?” Kurt asked, trudging up onto the bank. “That’s one nasty poison.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a sample of it for myself,” Vasco said, eyeing the dead guardian. “If you could distill it down and use it to coat a blade…” De Sardet caught his eye, giving him a slight shake of her head; she doubted that Siora would be pleased if Vasco attempted to dissect the dead guardian in the hopes of taking some of its poison. “…though I won’t try it myself,” he finished. “Given that I suspect we are running low on antidotes, it would be too dangerous.”

“Do your people have any customs surrounding a fallen _nadaig_?” de Sardet asked Siora. She sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be expected to bury it: the creature was immense, and she couldn’t imagine trying to dig a grave large enough to hold it. 

“The guardians do not die,” Siora answered. “Only when they are killed. If they are the guardian of a particular clan, that clan will honor it; sometimes, the clan will take it to a burial cave. But I do not know whose guardian this _nadaig_ might have been. Vighulshob is the closest village, but the _doneia esgregaw_ may also have a camp nearby.”

De Sardet had to let out a sigh of relief when Siora said, “We should leave it here. If a clan wishes to claim it, they will do so; if not, then it will return to the earth that it defended.”

Petrus eyed it balefully. “Your people would give burial rites to a demon?”

“It is _not_ a demon!” Siora’s eyes blazed, and she tried to get to her feet – too quickly, because her knees buckled beneath her, and de Sardet had to try to keep her from collapsing.

“Careful there, pretty twig,” Kurt said, getting an arm around Siora. He stood perhaps half a foot taller than Siora, and the differences in their heights meant she couldn’t get her arm comfortably around his shoulder, but he held onto her so she didn’t fall. “You’re not well yet. Poison will do a number on anyone.”

“It is a guardian of our people,” Siora said, ignoring him in favor of glowering at Petrus. “The _nadaig_ are fulfilling their sacred duty, the pact we made with _en on mil frichtimen_.”

“Then this _en on mil frichtimen_ is the demon.”

“He’s their god,” Vasco spoke up.

“A demon,” Petrus said, nodding as if Vasco had reaffirmed his conclusion.

“ _En on mil frichtimen_ is everything,” Siora protested. “He is the water we drink, the air we breathe, the earth we walk on. He is part of all of us, and we must both take and give back from him. It is a cycle.”

“That’s enough,” de Sardet intervened. “Petrus, Siora, please. We need to make camp before it gets dark, and this battle was difficult for everyone. I’m sure you both need to rest.”

“I am utterly drenched,” Petrus admitted.

“We’ll all need to take off our boots and dry out our socks,” said Kurt. “You don’t want to see what happens if you don’t. Hopefully by tomorrow everything’s dried out.”

“Do you think anything will dry out in this swamp?” Vasco asked doubtfully.

“I hope so,” said de Sardet. “Perhaps if we can start a fire…” It wasn’t cold; they’d defeated the _nadaig_ very near some hot springs, and the rising steam ensured they wouldn’t freeze, even if they removed all their armor. But the clamminess of her clothing clinging to her was unpleasant, and she couldn’t imagine having to put on the same quilted doublet the next day.

“Do you have anything to change into?” de Sardet asked Siora. She had only seen her in the one outfit; as far as she knew, Siora had brought very little with her to New Serene, and traveled most lightly of all the companions. When Siora shook her head, she said, “You can borrow some of my clothes.” Siora was closer to Vasco’s height, but Vasco had thicker arms and legs, while Siora and Alexandra de Sardet had a similar build.

“Come, my child,” Petrus said, moving to higher ground. “You’re right; we need to set up camp before night falls.”

“But not here,” said Kurt, looking around. “We’re far too exposed.” He insisted they trudge farther from the springs, until they’d reached a sheltered area atop a hill, obscured from view by an outcropping of rock. “We can build a fire here without revealing our location to half the valley. We don’t want to draw the natives if we can avoid it.”

They got a good fire going, and as soon as they’d erected their tents, went inside to change. De Sardet gave one of her spare doublets to Siora, a soft periwinkle-blue one with matching trousers, along with a spare set of undergarments that went beneath; she changed into her favorite old doublet, which had originally been a much darker shade of blue.

She emerged to find Kurt and Vasco both in very different clothing from what they usually wore: both men were in plain white linen shirts and trousers, barefoot, while Vasco’s coat and Kurt’s familiar blue and silver doublet were both hung over a makeshift clothesline they’d created. She was more surprised to see both men bareheaded. _When Kurt first became our master-at-arms, it was weeks before Constantin and I saw him without a hat or a helmet. We argued over whether or not he had any hair._ Kurt did; it was shaved close to his head well above his ears, but it was longer atop his head. Vasco had pulled his own hair out of its usual tight queue, and it hung loose and wet to his shoulders. 

As Petrus emerged from his own tent, a towel still draped around his shoulders, de Sardet realized with a start that she hadn’t seen him without a helmet since their meeting. _He didn’t wear one back in New Serene, when I was a child,_ she thought, but that had been years, and her memories of him were blurry at best. She remembered a dark-haired young man with a large nose and pointed moustache letting her try on his magic ring, or producing bursts of light and shadow for her benefit, but more than a decade and a half had passed since then. Now, she saw with a start that Petrus’s hair was entirely gray; it was much longer than Kurt’s, but a few inches shorter than Vasco’s, long enough to cover his neck but not to reach his shoulders. He was wearing a more traditional brown priest’s robe, with the black-and-white collar in the shape of an inverted ‘V’ that was the usual symbol of the clergy in Theleme.

“You look surprised, my child,” Petrus said.

“I do not think I’ve seen you without your armor in all the time we’ve spent together on the island,” de Sardet said. Even at night, whether in the legate’s residence or around a campfire, Petrus had worn his armor and helmet. It hadn’t seemed overly unusual then, if only because they’d all worn some form of armor, and both Kurt and Vasco had usually kept their hats on. She looked down; where everyone else was barefoot, Petrus had found a spare pair of shoes.

“Ceremonial armor is standard for those at the court of Theleme,” Petrus replied, “and it seemed ill-advised to remove it in the wilderness.”

“I will admit, I don’t think I’d recognize you, Father,” said Kurt.

“De Sardet looked like she thought there was an intruder in camp,” Vasco added with a grin. “I’ll agree, you hardly look like yourself.”

“Where the pretty twig and Green Blood look more like sisters than ever,” said Kurt. “You look like a proper lady in those clothes,” he told Siora.

“They are not as comfortable as my clothes,” she complained.

Kurt laughed. “You should see some of the nobles’ getups in Serene. Actually, I’m sure you did see some of them in the palace here. Did you meet Lady de Morange?”

“I saw many women with large skirts and strange pieces of cloth and wire around their necks,” Siora said, using her hands to mimic the flared collar that was popular. “I do not know how they could move.” She looked to de Sardet. “Have you ever worn such a garment?”

“Far too often, back in Serene,” said de Sardet.

“Did you bring any of those gowns with you to the island?” Vasco asked. “We transported enough trunks for you.”

“If you were going by number of trunks, you’d have to assume Constantin brought a dozen dresses,” Kurt said, looking up from the fire, where he was working on supper.

“I brought a few,” said de Sardet. “Under protest, but my mother told me that she expected there would be at least a few state occasions where I would be expected to dress like a lady.” She sniffed the air; the smell of cooked meat was coming from the fireside. “What are we eating for supper?” She was glad to see that Kurt was cooking instead of Petrus or Vasco: while Siora was also good at cooking in camp, she’d been pleasantly surprised to find that Kurt was equally talented, far better than de Sardet herself was at managing a campfire or roasting wild game.

“Well, none of us had the time to go hunting today, so it’s fried oatcakes, some of the salt pork from our stores, and some of those berries we gathered along the road the day before last. And the water from the swamp isn’t drinkable, so it’ll be wine tonight.” De Sardet had been pleasantly surprised to discover that most of the island’s rivers and streams provided clear, unpolluted water, fresh and pure; they might add a little wine to purify it, but in general, it was drinkable from the source, something that would have been unthinkable in Gacane. It was a good meal, and de Sardet enjoyed it – although she enjoyed being dry more than anything. The swamp was miserably humid, and she hadn’t realized how miserable she was in her wet clothing until she’d had the chance to change out of it.

_I think we’re all starting to dry out._ Both Kurt and Vasco were each wearing the linen shirt they usually wore beneath their armor; she was glad to see that Kurt was wearing one of the ones she’d given him. _Vasco’s is a little worn, but at least the Nauts give their sailors better-quality garments than the Coin Guard._ She still wondered if Vasco would object if she presented him with a gift similar to the one she’d given Kurt. _I could always give it to him in jest; after all, we will be returning to San Matheus eventually, and I could tell him that such a gift is not untoward, since we’ll all be under the eye of the Enlightened._ She decided that she would be glad to do so once they returned to New Serene. _I would also like to get each of them a new pair of boots._ Both men were barefoot, having only a single pair. _I’m sure I can find a pair of better quality for both of them._

“Do you think that our doublets have dried out?” Kurt asked Vasco.

“I’m more concerned about my coat.”

“You’re a sailor. Isn’t it waterproof?”

“It keeps water out,” Vasco answered. “It doesn’t help if you fall overboard – or into a swamp, for that matter!”

“I’ll take a look.” As Kurt rose to examine their clothing, de Sardet found herself admiring him in the firelight. The thinness of his shirt material showed off his arms, and while he’d found a pair of dry trousers, she thought they might have been the ones from his Naut disguise: she thought they looked more form-fitting than his usual pair, although she reflected that some of that might have been that his tunic was tucked into his trousers at the waist, where his doublet would have fallen to mid-thigh. 

“ _Carants_ ,” Siora said, startling her, and de Sardet turned to see her friend smiling at her.

De Sardet was glad it was dark out; she knew that Siora would have seen her face was bright red. “If you keep staring, the mind-shaker will notice.”

“Notice what?” de Sardet said, hoping she sounded innocent.

Siora’s smile grew wider. “ _I_ noticed,” she said. “I know you think him handsome.”

“Siora,” de Sardet said, glancing around, but no one had seen anything: Vasco was shaking out his coat, Kurt was examining his own doublet, and Petrus was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Petrus?”

“He went to make water. Although he did not say it that way. He made excuses.” Siora’s eyes shone with amusement. “You did not hear him. That was when I noticed.”

“I was not…I was only…” de Sardet fumbled over her words, trying to explain, and realized soon enough that she couldn’t.

“He is very brave, and kind, and he thinks you are very pretty,” said Siora. “I can see why you like him. Though the _moridigen_ is very pretty as well.”

“Handsome,” de Sardet corrected with a smile; she could hardly imagine how Kurt or Vasco would react to being called ‘pretty.’ “They are both handsome.”

“Yet you never look at the _moridigen_ that way.”

“What do you mean, ‘that way?’” De Sardet’s cheeks were still burning, and she knew it was pointless to try to deny it. _Kurt is handsome,_ she thought. _Is there anything wrong with acknowledging that? Constantin spoke of how handsome Vasco was._

 _And look where that led,_ a small voice whispered in her mind.

“You know what I mean,” Siora replied. “I do not think it is a bad thing. But I am very confused by your people’s customs.”

“Which customs?” Petrus asked, stepping back into the firelight.

Siora glanced at de Sardet; Petrus’s words had drawn both Vasco and Kurt’s attention, and de Sardet sincerely hoped her friend would not answer honestly. _Even if I think Kurt is handsome, it isn’t as if he’s ever looked at me that way._ She remembered his amusement at the idea she might be jealous of Reiner. _We are friends. How could I hope for more, when I’ve neglected him so terribly for so long?_ Until they’d come to Teer Fradee, she’d known almost nothing about him: not about his family, or that he’d recruited Reiner for the Coin Guard, or anything about where he’d served or the life he’d led. _There’s still so much I don’t know, because I never thought to ask._

She breathed a sigh of relief when Siora answered, “I do not understand why you use such strange euphemisms when you have to make water or waste. You beg pardon for a moment’s relief, you step away from the fire for a moment, you say you must visit the water closet when there are no closets within half a day’s journey…”

Vasco overheard and grinned, and Kurt gave a snort of amusement. “She’s got you there, Bishop,” said Vasco.

“I would rather use more delicate language when around ladies,” Petrus replied stiffly.

“I can’t imagine the bishop there saying that he has to take a piss,” Kurt said to Vasco.

“Or a shit?” Vasco added wryly, and both men laughed. 

“I beg your pardon,” Petrus said, and his offended tone made both men laugh harder. “I would much rather say that I have to answer the call of nature than express my needs in a more vulgar way.”

“Answer the call of nature?” Siora looked very confused. “You are a _renaigse_. I would not think that _en on mil frichtimen_ would call to you…” Confusion was replaced by indignation. “That is another way you say this?”

“But of course. What did you think I meant?”

“At the end of our lives, _en on mil frichtimen_ calls to us,” said Siora. “Those who are bonded to the earth, when it is our time to join him. It does _not_ mean what you say.”

“Well, there’s a way to learn how to avoid a diplomatic incident,” Kurt said, glancing at de Sardet. “I can only imagine you walking into some native village and politely trying to excuse yourself. Better to let the old fox make an ass of himself than you.”

“What do you say?” de Sardet asked Siora.

“That you have to make water. Or waste. Or that you are bleeding and need to change your cloth.” De Sardet had to suppress her own smile at that: Petrus looked as if he were deciding whether or not he wished to become selectively deaf. “We speak the truth.”

“I think you’ve spoken more truth than the old fox cares to hear,” Kurt told her.

“Indeed,” said Petrus. “That is quite enough for the evening.” He retreated back to his own tent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“I think you scared him off,” Kurt told Siora.

“You all did,” de Sardet said, though she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, knowing that she was the true reason the incident had begun. _He asked what Siora and I were talking about, and Siora lied._ She yawned. “Though I think we should all go to bed soon. Who has the first watch?”

“I do,” said Kurt.

“Wake me for the second watch.”

“I have second watch,” said Vasco. “I’ll wake you for third, if you’d like.”

De Sardet nodded. “Siora, you won’t have to keep watch tonight. You need to recover.” She was still worried about her; although Siora claimed she was fine, de Sardet noticed that her movements around camp were slower than usual, and she’d pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed at her temples as if she had a headache several times throughout the night. “Tomorrow, I hope we’ll find the lost expedition.”

“Well, it can’t be more eventful than today,” said Vasco.


	58. The Scientist in the Swamp

The following day wasn’t eventful, but it was miserable: they trudged through the swamp, searching for the expedition, and they were soon waterlogged, sticky with sweat, and being bitten to death by a cloud of mosquitoes, gnats, and flies that seemed to follow them wherever they went.

“Ugh,” said Kurt. “Brings back memories of my days in the Red Sun. We had a fortnight of trudging through marshland once, sneaking around to take a fort from the Bridge. I forgot how miserable it was getting eaten to death by mosquitoes. We’ll be lucky if none of us ends up with tertian fever from this.”

“I hope that the insects here don’t cause it,” said de Sardet. She looked to Siora. “Do your people have a disease transmitted in the swamps that causes a recurrent fever, headache, and sometimes convulsions or yellow skin?”

“Is this another of the diseases your god inflicts upon you? Your land is very cruel.” She shook her head. “My people do not know this disease.”

“Good,” said Kurt. “Three men in my regiment ended up with it, and while it didn’t kill any of them, it took them out of action at least once a season. I was lucky not to get it.”

Vasco shot him a look. “You knew that we might end up with something like that from wading through a swamp and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“I thought you knew,” said Kurt. “You’re around water enough.”

“Not stagnant swamp water,” said Vasco. “This is not the sea.” He swept a hand around at the water, which rose nearly to his waist. “And I like sailing upon the sea, not wading in it for hours on end, getting my boots stuck in mud and feeling like I’m in the middle of a pot of stew.”

“I don’t think any of us find it pleasant,” said Kurt.

Petrus was looking to de Sardet. She could see that he was just as miserable as Vasco, if not more so, but was trying to maintain his dignity by refusing to complain, even though his armor had to mean he was the hottest and most miserable of them all. “You knew the risk to yourself, and yet you chose to pursue the scholars here?”

“I could not leave them,” she replied. “If the natives have taken them captive, we will need to learn that. I hope—wait!” She paused, squinting into the distance. “There are some natives. Perhaps they are part of the group that attacked the scholars.”

“We could spy on them,” Petrus suggested. “They have not seen us, and Siora could translate their language.”

“I would prefer to speak with them,” said de Sardet. She turned to the others. “Sheathe your weapons. Siora, if you could come with me…” Apologetically, she told Petrus, “If you would stay here, I would appreciate it. I know they will be less likely to speak to me if you are with us.”

“I’ll stay with him,” said Vasco. “None of us should be in this swamp alone.”

“I’m going with you, Green Blood,” Kurt told her. “That way, we won’t be outnumbered if things do get dicey.”

She knew she wouldn’t dissuade Kurt, so she nodded. “Just don’t unsheathe your weapon unless they attack first.”

They approached the natives, who were agitated, but didn’t attack immediately: de Sardet saw them staring in confusion at both her own birthmark and at Siora. “We won’t let you take us!” one man said. “We won’t kneel down without a fight!”

“Wait! We have no desire to fight you,” de Sardet told him. “We only want to find the lion sages. They are not warriors, but their chief is ready to send an army of warriors to liberate them! If you help us bring them back, you will help save your tribe from a costly battle in lives.”

“She speaks truly,” the man said, looking to a woman in the party who seemed to be their leader.

They argued about it. “All we wanted was for them to tell us where our brothers are being kept!”

“What good is this if we must leave our camp behind?” The man turned to de Sardet, Siora, and Kurt, giving them advice on how to avoid the camp’s main entrance and warning them that it was well-guarded.

The woman was even more helpful, telling them where the scholars were kept. Unfortunately, while the natives knew that the scholars were being imprisoned in a cell within the ruins, none of them knew where the key to that cell was.

“We’ll have to find it, or hope the lock isn’t too complex,” said Kurt. “You’re not exactly a master thief.” 

“We’ll find it,” said de Sardet.

“I’ll go tell the sailor and the old fox what we’ve learned,” said Kurt, trudging back toward Petrus and Vasco.

De Sardet looked at the _doneia esgregaw_ , now moving away. “Do you want to try to speak with them alone?” she asked Siora. “Do you think they would tell you anything that they would not tell us?”

“I do not know, but I can try.” Siora moved to pursue them, and de Sardet brushed at her brow with the back of her hand, sighing as she tried not to think of how miserably sticky she was.

_It feels as if I will never be dry again. At least we may be able to leave the swamp now._ Having to worry about stealthily rescuing a group of scholars would bring its own dangers, but de Sardet knew her party would be glad to leave the swamp. _It feels as if we’ve been here a year._ She turned, and as she did so, noticed something in the water. “What’s this?” De Sardet stared at the item; it was an empty phial of some sort. _It does not look like it was crafted by the natives. In fact, it reminds me of the phials used by scholars of the Bridge Alliance._

As she stooped to pick it up, she saw movement, and looked up in time to realize that someone was dropping from a tree above her. She rose, moving backward as she was splashed by the other person, and realized that they were drawing a weapon; she saw the flash of metal and reacted instinctively, moving to disarm her opponent. A quick movement of her arm, and she saw the blade go flying – but the other person was already reaching for another weapon, and a moment later, de Sardet was staring down the muzzle of a rifle.

“I am not here to kill you!” de Sardet said, holding her hands up; she was still holding the empty phial she’d found floating in the swamp.

“Tell me then, what is your intended purpose?”

De Sardet found herself staring at a very angry-looking woman from the Bridge Alliance – but she could tell that the fury barely concealed a great deal of fear. The woman was dripping wet, clad in an armored kaftan of the Bridge Alliance, with a green beret and armored gauntlets. _Our missing scientist._

“We were sent to look for you!” de Sardet explained.

The woman glowered at her and advanced, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the center of her forehead. “Apologies, but allow me to express my doubts.”

De Sardet eyed her. _She’s soaking wet…and so is that rifle._ When the woman had jumped from her hiding place in the trees, she’d landed in a crouching position, drenching both herself and her weapon. “After that little swim, you could always _try_ to pull the trigger,” she suggested, hoping that she wouldn’t anger the woman enough to do it. _It likely won’t do anything, but I would hate to be wrong._

The woman stared at her for a long moment before letting out a huff of frustration. Angrily, she dropped her arm to her side, still holding the rifle in one hand as she plucked the empty phial from de Sardet’s hand with the other. “Who sent you to find me?” she demanded.

“We were not looking for you in particular, but the entire expedition,” de Sardet explained. “It was Governor Burhan who asked us to find you. He is worried about you. You haven’t been reporting.”

“You should have said that straightaway.” The other woman circled de Sardet, eyeing her, and only then did de Sardet realize how small she was: the Bridge Alliance scientist was shorter than either Vasco or Siora, and might well have stood nearly a foot shorter than Kurt.

The other woman was appraising her as well. “I must admit I was hoping for a rescue…of a different nature. Do you have a name?”

“De Sardet. I am from the Congregation.”

The woman leaned back, staring at her face, and de Sardet felt her gaze land on her birthmark. “Hm…the governor’s cousin, who wears an islander face…” Advancing, she pressed the muzzle of the rifle against de Sardet’s birthmark; she pushed it away in annoyance. “I’ve heard stories about you. And them?”

De Sardet turned to see the rest of her party standing nearby, having caught up with her. Siora’s expression was one of unvarnished alarm, while one of Vasco’s hands was on the hilt of his pistol, the other on his rapier. Kurt had actually drawn his _zweihander_ , while a hint of magic still swirled about Petrus’s hands: both men looked absolutely livid.

“Captain Vasco,” said Vasco. “Though I realize, I am quite far from the sea.”

“I am Siora, daughter of Bladnid,” said Siora. She glared at the scientist. “From the people that your own capture and torture.”

“I’ve never taken anyone,” the woman said, clearly taken aback by Siora’s anger. “On the contrary, we had hoped to exchange our knowledge with your own.”

“While our people are at war?”

“What are you talking about? There have been isolated skirmishes between the natives and our soldiers, but—”

“You don’t know?” de Sardet asked, seeing grief warring with anger in Siora’s eyes. “The _mal_ of Vedhrais, Queen Bladnid, was massing a large group of warriors to fight your people. Governor Burhan sent a larger force of soldiers to meet them, a combination of Coin Guard and Bridge Alliance soldiers. There were heavy casualties on both sides, including the queen.”

The woman looked stunned. “I did not know,” she said. “We’ve been out here for months.” She blinked, and de Sardet saw her make another connection. “The queen…your mother?” she asked Siora.

Siora nodded; the grief had faded from her eyes, and she was now staring at the Bridge Alliance scientist with anger.

“Perhaps that explains what happened,” the woman murmured. Her eyes went to the other companions. “And you are…”

“Bishop Petrus,” Petrus said. “If our young friend hadn’t insisted on coming here, I would have gladly let you rot in this marsh.”

“Behold, the charity of the Enlightened, huh?” the woman replied, rolling her eyes.

“Kurt. Simply Kurt. I protect our Excellency’s back.” He rested his sword over his shoulder. “And if one of your violent fits overcomes you, rescue party or not, I will kill you.”

“This is a rather odd group.” The woman eyed each of them, apparently unfazed by the uniformly hostile glances she was getting in return. “I am Aphra, a scholar from the Bridge Alliance. It is rather rare to find me rolling in the marshes. I study the flora and fauna of this isle. I should imagine you have many questions.” She spoke of their expedition, a peaceful group of scientists seeking to discover the secrets of the island’s plants, and how they had been attacked and taken to a nearby village. She had managed to escape, and had been in the swamp ever since, tracking her fellow scientists and hoping to find a way to rescue them.

“We have spoken with some of the natives who attacked your people,” said de Sardet. “I convinced them to tell me where they were being kept.”

“I asked them if they thought their leader would negotiate for their release,” said Siora. “They said she would not. If we are to rescue them, we must take them without her knowledge.”

“Or fight our way in,” said Kurt. “But we would be heavily outnumbered.”

“Stealth is the better option,” said Vasco.

De Sardet nodded. “I have a few haze potions.”

“I’ve scouted the camp,” said Aphra. “Come. I’ll show you a place where you can make camp.”

“If we’re making camp, we should go get our supplies,” said Kurt.

“We should camp at our camp tonight,” said de Sardet. “That will give us time to get some rest and move to Aphra’s camp tomorrow morning. We can reconnoiter the area and prepare to rescue the scholars after nightfall tomorrow.”

Aphra had looked ready to argue, but subsided as she heard de Sardet’s plan. “That sounds logical,” she conceded.

“We each have our own tents,” said de Sardet, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to share with one of us.” She thought of how Aphra had been so interested in learning from the natives, and how Siora had acknowledged that she would not have taken vengeance on the unarmed scholar. “Perhaps you would like to share with Siora.” She saw Kurt and Vasco exchange uneasy glances, and said, “If it’s all right with both of you. I would gladly share with either of you, if you would prefer.”

“On the contrary,” Aphra said, looking with interest at Siora. “I would be glad to share with your native friend.”

“My name is Siora,” Siora said, eyeing her with hostility. “But I will share with you.”

“If we rescue this group of scholars, we’ll have more people than tents,” said Kurt. “Though if they’re rescued, I’m sure they’ll be happy to sleep on the ground in the open for a few nights until we can get back to Hikmet or New Serene.”

“We’ll return to Hikmet,” said Aphra.

“We’ll return wherever Her Excellency says we will,” Kurt shot back. “She is the leader of this expedition, not you.”

Aphra eyed his blue and silver doublet. “You’re very vocal, for a hired guard.”

“Kurt is far more than a hired guard,” de Sardet broke in. “He is my friend.”

“And as both her friend and her bodyguard, I am less than impressed with anyone who points a gun at her,” said Kurt; folding his arms across his chest, he moved forward.

Aphra folded her own arms across her chest, looking unimpressed. “She looks like an islander!”

“Dressed like that? You said it yourself – you’d heard of the governor’s cousin from the Congregation. You’re telling me you thought a native was wearing Congregation armor?”

“I saw her with a native, talking to other natives. For all I knew, she’d taken that armor off a dead merchant.”

“Have you ever heard an islander speak Gacan with a Congregation accent? A noble accent, at that?”

“No,” said Aphra. “But you’ll see I’m not pointing a gun at her now.”

“It took you long enough to put it down. And your trigger discipline is terrible,” said Kurt. “Using that rifle to gesture—” The glower he gave her then was enough to make her look away.

“He’s right,” Vasco chimed in. “The first rule anyone learns when handling a gun is not to point it at anything you don’t intend to kill. You certainly don’t use it to examine someone’s face…even if you think the powder is wet. Misfires happen.”

“If it were up to me, I’d take that rifle from you until I knew you wouldn’t kill one of your comrades with it.”

“I managed to keep from killing my comrades on that expedition,” Aphra shot back. “I’ve been shooting since I was a child.”

“Not well, if no one taught you the basics.”

“Would you care to test my aim?” Aphra looked as if she was on the verge of drawing her gun once more.

“Stop it,” de Sardet said, interposing herself between them. “Aphra, this is ridiculous.” She was beginning to understand the frustration in the journal entries of the expedition leader. “We’ve come to rescue you and your companions, and I hope that we’ve managed to allay your suspicions. We are offering you food, shelter, and medical treatment, as well as assistance in that rescue.”

“What she really means to say is, ‘would you quit pointing your gun at us and let us help?’” Vasco chimed in. De Sardet could tell that he was very nearly as angry as the others, but hiding it beneath a heavy layer of sarcasm. “After all, we did not spend several days trudging through this swamp for our health.”

“I did tell you that we could return to Hikmet and tell Governor Burhan we were unable to find them,” Petrus added. “He would have been satisfied with the report of the camp’s destruction.”

“I’m sure he would have,” said Aphra.

“You don’t like him?”

“I can’t stand him,” Aphra replied. “Burhan is a spineless politician, appointed governor because he’s good at brown-nosing the right people, not because he has any skill in managing a colony or even in performing his own science. He came from a university background, but he was the sort who always managed to sneak his name onto others’ papers without doing any of the work, and who managed to get more grant funds by talking his way through committees instead of writing proposals that truly deserved the funding.” She tilted her head. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re fond of him?” She sighed. “I will admit, I have a tendency to say what I think without considering the political affiliations of others. It has impeded my own progress in the academic realm.”

“I have not interacted much with the governor,” de Sardet said carefully. “I do wonder why he has charged me with investigating so many of the diplomatic issues in Hikmet. We had looked into some recent attacks on merchant caravans near Hikmet before he entrusted me with this assignment, but I will confess to wondering why he would not grant such an assignment to his own legate instead.”

“I can answer that for you,” Aphra replied. “Ambassador Mazar is dead.” She eyed Siora. “Governor Burhan had attempted to have him investigate those caravan attacks several months ago, when they first began. I believe that the natives left his body out to be devoured by wild animals.”

“As a warning,” said Siora. They had done the same with some of the merchants.

“I see you had more luck than he did,” said Aphra. “Since Governor Burhan will not do anything that might antagonize his superiors and thus jeopardize his chances for advancement on the continent, he will wait until one of the ministers in Al Saad appoints a replacement for the ambassador instead of choosing one of his own. Even if news of Ambassador Mazar’s death has reached Al Saad, it will take several months for them to select a replacement, several months for that replacement to ready themselves for their departure for the island, and several months more before that replacement can reach the island. I would not expect to see a new ambassador for at least a year.”

Petrus raised his eyebrows. “I did not know of his death,” he said, sounding impressed.

“Why would you? It isn’t as if we ever sent an ambassador to Theleme – and you never came to us.”

“Why would I?” Petrus answered. “You will not allow citizens of my country inside your palace…which is certainly not true of Theleme. We are not so insecure as to believe that a single man or woman could destroy the palace on their own.”

“A single man or woman armed with a sufficient amount of explosives would certainly be able to do so,” Aphra replied, “and even if you were not interested in blowing up the palace, we all know how skilled the citizens of Theleme are in matters of espionage.”

“We can discuss this when we’ve rescued the scholars and returned to Hikmet,” said de Sardet. “For now, I would prefer to focus on that rescue.”

“And the rest of us would prefer to focus on getting out of this miserable swamp,” said Vasco. He slapped at a mosquito.

When they emerged from the swamp and returned to their camp, de Sardet could see that they were all insect-bitten, itchy, and wet. Aphra had only her own clothing; de Sardet promised her another set of her own, though it was far too large.

“What I wouldn’t give for a hot bath about now,” said Kurt as they trudged out of the swamp and back to the camp.

“So would I,” de Sardet admitted. “To be back at our house, with scented oil for the bathtub, a bar of soap, and the hottest water I could bear…” She sighed, imagining it.

“It does sound quite appealing,” Petrus agreed. “Even having dried off and changed clothing, we all reek of that wretched swamp.”

“Some of us are running out of spare sets of clothes,” said Vasco.

“I’ll remedy that when we return to New Serene,” de Sardet promised. Vasco and Kurt both had several spare changes of undergarments and a few different pairs of trousers, but neither man had more than a single spare coat or doublet, and Vasco’s second captain’s coat was rather well-worn.

“That isn’t necessary—” Vasco began.

“It is. I insist. I’m sure you’ve ruined the coat you’ve worn into the swamp. It’s on my account, in the course of your service to the Congregation, so I’m sure Constantin will pay for the replacement.” If he wouldn’t, de Sardet would take the money from her own accounts, but she knew both men would protest more if she said that.

“Really, de Sardet—”

“Don’t try to argue with her,” Kurt said, with a smile toward her. “It won’t work. Ask me how I know.”

“As long as you don’t steal my underwear,” Vasco said. That drew a puzzled look from Aphra and a mildly scandalized one from Petrus, but de Sardet and Kurt both laughed.

They retreated to the camp, where they repeated the process from the previous nights, stripping, hanging the clothes up to dry, and changing into whatever dry clothing they possessed. Tonight, Siora took over the cooking duties, and de Sardet was grateful to eat the stew she prepared. _At least eating gives us something to do._ Everyone was miserable, and Aphra’s presence put a damper on conversation; Kurt and Petrus were both silently glaring at her throughout the meal, and Kurt was acting as if he expected her to draw her rifle and start aiming it at one of them, watching her every movement. Meanwhile, Petrus made several pointed comments about ingratitude, and Siora had expressed her own displeasure by serving Aphra a smaller bowl of stew than anyone else had received.

“You know, I would expect a certain amount of gratitude to be expressed after saving one’s life,” Petrus said, “especially as we have already risked our own several times on this expedition, and will undoubtedly do so again.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“But you certainly benefited from our aid. If not for us, you would still be in that swamp. How long do you think you would have survived there?”

“I know how to live off the land. I would have managed.”

“For weeks? Perhaps months? With hostile natives all around?”

“You underestimate me,” Aphra replied. 

While they bickered, Vasco rolled up his sleeves, scratching. “These bites are horrific,” Vasco complained, examining his arms. “I swear, those insects crawled under the collar of my coat, up my sleeves, down my pants…I have bites in places I didn’t think they could reach.”

“It is awful,” Petrus agreed; like the rest of them, he was also covered in bite marks.

“Careful, sailor, or you’ll scratch yourself bloody. That’ll only make things worse.”

“Do you know of a remedy?” de Sardet asked Siora, trying not to scratch.

“I do. I can show you how to make it, if you have the ingredients; otherwise, we will need to gather them in the morning. There should be some around here.”

“Why wait?” Vasco asked. “If you have the ingredients, please, show us. I’ll gather the ingredients myself if I have to.”

De Sardet had a few of the ingredients, plants she’d gathered that had use in making magic-replenishing potions or resuscitation powder, but there was one she was missing. “It is called _serenter_ ,” said Siora, then translated. “Starleaf.”

“Starleaf? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it.”

Siora described the plant that she was looking for, a plant that grew low to the ground with tiny star-shaped leaves, and spread rapidly, entangled among the grasses. “I know I’ve seen it, but I’ve never gathered it,” said de Sardet.

“I know it,” Aphra said. “It isn’t native to the continent. I had hoped it would have some sort of medicinal property! We hadn’t formally named it yet, but those star-shaped leaves are quite striking, and I would not object to following the natives’ naming convention. Starleaf, _serenter_ in the natives’ language, would become _Astrafolium primastra_ for the formal species name. One of my companions wanted to name it after himself, but I find that to be horribly egotistical, as well as scientifically useless. Names should tell you something about the substance of the thing itself, whether that’s its appearance or some useful property, and calling a plant _Darjan darjanis_ would be utterly foolish.”

It was the most that she had said since they’d first met, but her impromptu lecture had killed all conversation: everyone stared at her, and there was a moment of awkward silence before de Sardet said, “No matter what we call it, let’s hope we can find some now.”

“It should be abundant here,” said Siora. “It grows close to the ground, in the open spaces. But it is growing late. Do you not think we should wait until morning? I do not know if we will find it in the dark.”

“I think we’d all sleep better if we had some,” said Vasco. He grimaced, and de Sardet felt sympathy: while everyone had their fair share of insect bites, Vasco seemed to have gotten the worst of it; even in the fading light, she could see at least a dozen raised red spots on his arms. “I’d go out and look myself, if I knew what I was looking for, but Siora is right: it’ll be near-impossible in the dark.” 

“What about with light?” De Sardet murmured a spell, and a soft white light glowed from the lantern on her waist.

“An excellent idea,” said Petrus. “Siora and Aphra both recognize this plant. You, Aphra, and Kurt can search together, while Vasco, Siora, and I will do the same.”

“Why do I have to go with you?”

“Because my people are at war with Aphra’s, as are yours,” Petrus replied. “I doubt that Legate de Sardet will wish to leave us alone with her.” He nodded to Kurt. “And after her violent display this afternoon, I am fairly certain that Captain Kurt will insist that he be part of any party that includes both Aphra and the legate.”

“Would you like me to throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness?” Aphra demanded. “I told you that I wouldn’t pull my weapon on her again. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Trust is earned,” Kurt said shortly. “You haven’t.”

As they gathered the plant, Kurt watched Aphra as if he thought she would pull her rifle again, but de Sardet did her best to make conversation, feeling obliged to keep up her role as legate despite Aphra’s continued hostility. “Where are you from?”

“Why would you want to know?”

“I was hoping to learn more about you,” de Sardet replied.

Aphra frowned. “What do you want to know?”

De Sardet couldn’t help a little teasing. “Do you often hold strangers at gunpoint?”

“Only when I’m being tracked. Do you often track young ladies?”

“Only when it seems they require assistance,” de Sardet answered. “I must admit, your journal made me want to find you.”

“How so?”

“Your journal was surprisingly thorough, and your observations very pertinent.” De Sardet wondered how Aphra would react to flattery. _Perhaps complimenting her might make her friendlier._ “How could one not want to find someone so brilliant?”

Aphra’s eyes narrowed. “Your compliment goes straight to my heart, I mean it, but I regret to inform you that your friendship appeals more to me than your appearance.”

De Sardet recoiled; for a moment, she was utterly confused about why the Bridge Alliance scientist had found it necessary to insult her appearance. She started to lift a hand to her birthmark before she stopped herself, and for a very fleeting moment, she thought, _Maybe Petrus was right._ She dismissed the thought immediately, knowing it was unworthy of her, but she couldn't help but feel more than a little hurt. 

Her self-composure quickly reasserted itself: she had long ago learned to cover her dismay when others reacted to her birthmark, and she knew it was better to act as if she didn’t care what anyone else thought. “I don’t see why that comment was necessary,” she said icily. “My appearance hardly affects my ability to understand your writing.”

Aphra’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I know full well it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why would you say I’m ugly?”

But then she heard Kurt’s laughter, and looked up in confusion: she knew that Kurt wouldn’t have been laughing at her appearance. _If anything, he’s always been overprotective when someone insults me._

“The Bridger doesn’t think you’re ugly, Green Blood,” Kurt said, seeing de Sardet’s confusion. “She thinks you’re flirting with her. She’s trying to tell you that you’re not her type.”

“Are you not?” Aphra frowned, and Kurt laughed harder as she amended, “Flirting with me, I mean.”

“No,” de Sardet said, frowning back. “Is Kurt right? Is that what you meant?”

“Yes,” Aphra said. “I thought that you were trying to imply that I was some sort of damsel in distress, and that you saved me because you were attracted to my intellect.”

That made Kurt laugh harder, and now Aphra looked a little hurt as she glared at him. “How else would you interpret it?”

“As a diplomat giving you a compliment to try to soften you up,” he said.

Aphra looked back to de Sardet. “Is that true?”

“You’ve been so…hostile…since our meeting, I thought you might react differently if I gave you a compliment. It certainly wasn’t meant as a proposition!”

“The legate is a noble lady of Serene,” Kurt said. “She certainly doesn’t go around propositioning people she’s just met.”

“Particularly not those who’ve introduced themselves at gunpoint,” de Sardet said.

“Well, that’s fortunate. I was afraid that things would get awkward.”

That drew another laugh from Kurt, and this time, de Sardet couldn’t help but join in. “I don’t know how it could have been more awkward,” she answered.

“To be clear, I wasn’t attempting to comment on your physical appearance…though your resemblance to the natives truly is striking,” Aphra said, momentarily distracted by de Sardet’s birthmark. “I knew they said you resembled the natives, but you truly look as if you could be one of them.” Her gaze lingered on the birthmark for a moment more before she shook herself out of it. “While I’m sure that there are those who would consider you attractive, I am not one of them.” At seeing the look Kurt gave her, she added defensively, “All I’m saying is that I have no desire for a relationship with the legate, whether romantic or sexual. I’m not attracted to women.”

De Sardet had to smile. “That’s fortunate, because neither am I.”

Aphra breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Then I’m glad that’s done with.” 

De Sardet changed the subject, hoping to find a topic Aphra couldn’t misinterpret. “Could you tell me more about the fellow members of your expedition? How many of you were there?”

“Didn’t Governor Burhan give you that information before he sent you to look for us?”

“Obviously not,” Kurt said.

“I’m afraid Governor Burhan gave us very little information,” de Sardet supplied. “I know that you were due to report back to Hikmet but failed to do so several weeks ago, but that is all. From the size of your camp, I would have guessed that there were five or six of you, but I don’t know anything more.”

“There were five of us,” Aphra sighed. “Celia, the leader of our expedition; Darjan; Tarek; Berat; and me. We all had our own areas of specialty, although of course there was a good deal of overlap. Berat specialized in the rock and soil; Tarek in the island’s fauna; Darjan and I were both botanists, though I had more background in medicinal plants and was more concerned with finding the properties and usages of the native flora, while he was more concerned with cataloging the plants and drawing comparisons to ones found on the continent; and Celia was our leader, focused on keeping the expedition together, although I know she was also interested in the physiological bond between the natives and the island, and wished to learn if any other animals on the island had a similar bond.”

“The island natives are not animals,” de Sardet said; reflexively, her hand went to her birthmark.

Aphra’s brow furrowed, momentarily confused, before she seemed to realize why de Sardet had taken offense. “I didn’t mean to imply that they are subhuman. We’re all animals, albeit ones with the capacity for reason. But haven’t you noticed the natives’ bond? Those with a birthmark such as yours are highly resistant to poison, rarely take ill, and recover more quickly when they do. I know that Celia would like to learn the nature of that bond. If it could be replicated, we might be able to induce resistance to disease and poison in our own population…perhaps even to the malichor. As you’ve likely noticed, there is no malichor here.”

“I know,” de Sardet murmured.

“That is why I came. I have hopes of finding a plant that will prove efficacious against the malichor. Many of these plants have essential qualities that I hope will translate into remedies that can be used in patients.”

“Are you a physician, then? Or a botanist?”

“Both. My undergraduate education in Al Saad was in botany; my research in the university there attracted the attention of Doctor Asili, and I worked under him, studying medicine, as well as attempting to apply my botanical experience to medical research.”

De Sardet frowned. “Doctor Asili? I am not a scientist, but that name seems familiar.”

“Marwan Asili is the most famous physician in the Bridge Alliance, and perhaps in all the world,” Aphra replied, the pride in her voice evident. “He achieved great renown through his discovery of inoculation. His innovations led to the prevention of such terrible diseases as smallpox, lockjaw, the withers, the redpox, and hoop-cough…and we even hope that one day, some of those diseases may be eradicated entirely.”

“That would be wonderful indeed,” said de Sardet.

“Doctor Asili came to Teer Fradee in hopes of discovering a cure for the malichor.” Aphra placed another cluster of starleaf into her pouch. “I followed him here, but…he had changed. He lost his family to the malichor, and since then…I would rather not speak of it,” she said finally.

“The malichor is a terrible disease,” de Sardet agreed. She thought of her mother. _Is she still alive?_ She looked up at the stars, and wondered if her mother was looking out a window in Serene, seeing the same. _No matter how far apart we are, we’re both beneath the same sky._

“What are you looking at?” Aphra asked. “Do you have any interest in astronomy?”

“I’m sorry?” De Sardet turned her attention back to Aphra. “Astronomy?”

“You were staring into the sky. I thought you were looking at something.”

“Oh…no.” She did her best to shake off thoughts of her mother. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It was just…” De Sardet didn’t have the heart to try to think of a polite lie, even though she could not imagine Aphra responding sympathetically to the truth. “You spoke of how Doctor Asili lost his family to the malichor, and that he came here in hopes of finding a cure. My mother is dying of the malichor, and I also came here hoping that the island might provide a cure.”

“Even if we find some promising substance from a plant or an animal here, the scientific process takes years,” Aphra cautioned her. “If your mother has already begun to show symptoms—”

“I know.” De Sardet thought of her mother as she had been the day of their farewell: blind, wracked with pain, confined to her chair, her skin pale and marred with black veins. “We both knew when I left that we would never see each other again. But she told me to go, and I could not disobey my uncle.” She sighed. “I must admit, I have great sympathy for your mentor, and I hope his search for a cure is successful. Even if our families could not be saved, a cure for all those not yet afflicted would truly seem miraculous.”

“I don’t believe in miracles,” Aphra replied. “The science of the Bridge should prevail over the superstitions of Theleme.” She rose to her feet, holding her now-filled bag of plants. “As this will undoubtedly prove. Even the natives, who have nature magic of their own, would prefer to use the island’s herbs to create medicines rather than relying on spells. This should be enough.”

They returned to camp, and under Siora’s instructions, de Sardet and Aphra prepared batches of ointment. It was a ghastly shade of green and smelled of pine needles and sage, and they divided it into half a dozen portions.

“You do not need much, but you need to rub it in,” said Siora. “It will feel cool at first. Then it will tingle, and the itching will stop.”

“My shoulders feel like they got the worst of it,” said Kurt. “I’ll help anyone who’s willing to help me.”

“I’d say yes, but I don’t think you’ll want to make that trade,” said Vasco.

“I think not,” Kurt replied, amused. “I’ve seen you rubbing your arse against that log half the night.” They’d both eaten their dinner while sitting on a fallen log, while Siora and de Sardet had been sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Petrus had a camp chair.

“Here’s to hoping this works. If you’ll excuse me…” Vasco ducked into his tent, and de Sardet could see he was already fumbling with the laces of his trousers with one hand while balancing the bowl of ointment with the other.

“My shoulders feel like they took the worst of it,” Kurt said. “What about you, Green Blood?”

“Mostly on my arms, and a few on my legs, but I fared better than you or poor Vasco.”

“Or me,” said Petrus, grimacing. “Although the worst seems to be my back…though perhaps that is because I cannot reach the area to scratch it.”

“Well, go on then,” Kurt said. “I’ll help you out if you’ll help me.” 

Petrus looked shocked: first at the casual way that Kurt took off his own shirt, then at the scars on his back. “Training,” Kurt said simply. “I’m sure you’ve seen worse. I know there are religious orders that do this to themselves, though I won’t pretend to understand why.”

“They say that pain brings you closer to the Enlightened,” replied Petrus. “There are saints who have experienced profound suffering, and who have claimed it helped them achieve enlightenment…a vision of becoming one with the Illuminated.”

“Pain doesn’t bring you closer to any god. You might pray for it to be over with, but does it really count if you’d pray to any god who could make it stop?”

“I do tend to agree with you,” Petrus replied. “The ascetic orders have always seemed far too extreme for my tastes. Self-flagellation, wearing a hair shirt, walking with thorns in one’s shoe so that they are always bleeding and blistered…such displays of self-righteousness rarely correspond to true faith.”

“Fanaticism, maybe,” said Aphra. “There’s plenty of that in Theleme.”

“How would you know?” Petrus shot back.

“Aphra, do you need help?” De Sardet’s words were much louder than she’d intended, and as she spoke, she could hear the strain in her own voice, but it worked: she drew the attention of all four of the remaining companions. “You were in that swamp for days on end. You must be bitten terribly.”

“I am,” Aphra acknowledged. “Mosquitoes, gnats…even the flies here bite. I itch from the back of my neck to the back of my calves.” She looked to Petrus, then to de Sardet. “I would have no issue with removing my own shirt here, but that might offend the bishop. Would you prefer to remove to your tent to apply this to one another?” To Kurt, she added, “If you’d prefer, I’ll even leave my rifle here.” 

“Go with them, pretty flower,” Kurt told Siora. “You can help.”

“I thought I would offer to help Vasco,” said Siora, and Petrus nearly choked. “Your people have a strange sense of modesty, if it keeps them from helping one another. My own people do not see bare skin as being shameful or wrong when you are among those you know and care for. I would not hesitate to help any of my _caranten_."

Among their present companions, de Sardet knew that meant her, Kurt, and Vasco: the three of them had helped bury Siora’s mother, and the time they’d spent in New Serene and on the roads together had brought them closer still. _Siora and I have shared a tent since we began traveling together, and have seen each other changing many times._

“I doubt that Captain Vasco would appreciate that,” said Petrus.

“I’d wager the sailor would have less of a problem with it than you think,” Kurt said. “You must have sailed to Teer Fradee on a Naut ship, same as the rest of us. You know how the Nauts bunk together, all in the hold. It’s like a Coin barracks: anyone who isn’t an officer has a bunk and a trunk, and that’s it. You see a lot of your comrades.” He let out a sigh of relief as Petrus rubbed the ointment in. “That’s good medicine.”

“Then I will be glad to try it,” said de Sardet. She glanced at Siora. “If you do want to ask Vasco if he needs help, I’m sure he would appreciate it. I don’t think he would accept help from me.”

“You’re too noble, Green Blood. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Not right? For a noble to help a friend?”

“For a noblewoman to rub ointment into the bare buttocks of a Naut, particularly if they are alone in a tent together,” said Aphra. “I am not afflicted with a false sense of propriety, but even I know that crosses a line. It would be the same if she were to offer the same to Kurt…or to Bishop Petrus, for that matter.”

De Sardet had to stifle a laugh as she saw Kurt’s cheeks flush red; Petrus, meanwhile, seemed to be pretending absolute deafness.

“But there will be no impropriety for you to be alone together?” Siora asked. “Naked?”

De Sardet laughed. “Well, we’re not going to strip down entirely,” she said. “Just enough to apply the ointment to those bites.”

“But the same would be true of Vasco, or Kurt, or anyone here…and you are strangers.” Siora tilted her head, puzzled. “My people are more…modest…around those we do not know,” she said, testing the unknown word. “Is that not true of _renaigse_?”

“It is true,” said de Sardet, “but we are both women, and both nobly born. That also makes a difference.”

“Whether in the Congregation, the Bridge Alliance, or Theleme, an unwed man and woman are never permitted to be alone in a bedroom together, let alone in a state of undress,” Petrus supplied. “If they were, it would imply…”

“Fucking?”

Siora supplied the word so innocently that Kurt started coughing, trying to hide his laughter at the look of utter shock on Petrus’s face. Aphra seemed to enjoy the exchange: she took one look at Petrus and said, “Precisely!”

“But it should not matter if it is a man and a woman, or two men, or two women,” said Siora. “Although it would explain why you are more concerned when two people know each other than when they are strangers.”

“That isn’t entirely it,” de Sardet intervened; Petrus looked as if he might have an apoplectic fit. “As with all of our customs, the reality is more complicated.”

“And, as we know, neither Green Blood nor our new Bridger friend have any interest in women,” said Kurt. “Though I’m glad you had that conversation before now. I don’t know what she’d think if you’d offered to help take her shirt off.”

De Sardet had to laugh, even as she saw their other companions’ puzzlement. “The Bridger thought Green Blood was flirting, so she told her she was ugly by way of fending her off," Kurt explained.

“I told her that I appreciated her compliment far more than her appearance,” Aphra protested, as Kurt and Siora exchanged glances.

“You told her she was ugly,” Siora agreed.

Aphra frowned, moving toward de Sardet’s tent. “De Sardet, I would appreciate your help.”

They entered her tent, and Aphra stripped; she was indeed covered in insect bites, both front and back. De Sardet winced. “The insects don’t seem to have bitten you nearly as badly,” she observed as de Sardet pulled up her own shirt so Aphra could daub the bites with ointment.

Siora entered. “Was Vasco all right?”

That drew a smile from Siora. “He says he will manage.”

Aphra let out a sigh of relief as de Sardet rubbed ointment into her back: she was indeed badly bitten, having spent more than twice the amount of time in the swamp than de Sardet and the others.

“Kurt asked me to check on you. He wanted to make sure you were well.”

Aphra looked outraged. “Because he expected me to assassinate her?”

“He does not trust you, and neither do I,” said Siora.

“Kurt is dedicated to my protection,” said de Sardet. “I think he was upset that he wasn’t at my side when I found you.”

“He does not want her sleeping in your tent,” said Siora.

“I can hardly expect her to sleep outside,” de Sardet protested.

Siora frowned. “I will share.” She didn’t look happy about it, but sounded as if the matter had already been decided.

“Did Kurt—”

“It was my choice. The _cengots_ wanted us to share a tent and for you to give yours to her, but you should not have to give up your tent for this lion.”

“Aphra did express a desire to learn from the natives,” said de Sardet, remembering the journal. She looked to Aphra. “Would you object to sharing a tent with Siora for the evening?”

“Not at all.” Aphra looked bemused. “Though, as leader of this expedition, you could simply order me to do so.”

“I would rather take your preferences into account.”

“And I am sure you would rather have a tent to yourself. I’ll share with Siora.” Aphra paused. “I suppose I should give thanks that you are the leader here. As your companions are so fond of reminding me, any of them would have left me to die.”

“You did point a rifle at my head,” de Sardet pointed out. “And they are my friends.”

“I’ve always had difficulty making friends,” said Aphra.

De Sardet had to smile, despite herself. “I can't imagine why.”

Aphra looked from de Sardet to Siora, then toward the opening of the tent. “You seem to have no such difficulties. I still don’t understand how you’ve come to lead a rescue party with a Naut, a native, a bishop from Theleme, and your bodyguard, but you seem to be on good terms with them all.”

“She is our _carants_ ,” Siora said.

“Friend,” Aphra said. “I don’t speak much of the natives’ language, but I do understand that.” She frowned. “I don’t have any friends.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, without self-pity, but de Sardet couldn’t help but feel sorry for her; she understood what it was to be lonely. “Until I came to Teer Fradee, neither did I. My cousin Constantin was my best – and perhaps my only – friend.” 

“What of those in your expedition? The other lions?” Siora wanted to know.

“I’ve known the expedition leader, Celia, a very long time; if I would call anyone a friend, it is her,” said Aphra. “But it is hard for me to grow close to anyone, and, as students, we were very often in direct competition with one another. That does not foster a sense of camaraderie.”

“That’s a shame. I hope you’ll see that things are very different here with us.”

“I hope I don’t have to stay in the wilderness for long enough to see,” Aphra replied. “Let’s get to bed; tomorrow, we’ll rescue my comrades…well, those who survived. Poor Darjan!”

“I’m very sorry for what happened to him.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Aphra eyed Siora as she spoke to de Sardet. “The native savages murdered him, not you.” 

“You steal our people and you call us savages, _renaigse_?”

“We hadn’t stolen anyone. We were unarmed. Darjan didn’t even know how to hold a sword, and he could barely fire a pistol if someone loaded it for him. I would say that what you did to him was truly savage.”

“I did not do anything,” Siora said heatedly. “I would not kill a man while he was fleeing.”

De Sardet began to second-guess herself. “Aphra, would you like my tent? I can go sleep with Siora.”

“That won’t be necessary, de Sardet.” Aphra turned and left without another word, and Siora smiled.

“I never thought I would say this, but maybe the mind-shaker was right.” Siora smiled. “I promise not to kill her in her sleep, _carants_.” 


	59. A Daring Rescue

Kurt woke to find that Siora was already awake. “I did not think you had a watch last night, pretty flower.” Vasco had offered to take first watch, saying he was itchy enough that he didn’t think he would sleep, while Petrus had drawn the second.

“I didn’t,” she said. He noticed there were dark circles beneath her eyes.

“I didn’t think that you were that badly bitten. Green Blood said those bugs didn’t get the two of you as badly as the rest of us.”

“It wasn’t that,” Siora said, then yawned. “I will sleep with Alexandra tomorrow, _carants_ , or I will kill the lion.”

“What happened?”

“I did not sleep.”

“If you were that worried about the Bridger, you should have stayed with Green Blood. She would have shared your tent.” Kurt didn’t blame her: he’d been insistent that de Sardet not share her own tent with the Bridge Alliance scientist because of the manner of their meeting. _She claims she won’t try anything again, but I don’t trust her._ By the time they’d needed to share a tent during their excursion to Vedrhais, Siora had already proven herself trustworthy, and her introduction to de Sardet had been very different than Aphra’s. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to sleep in the same tent, but you should’ve said something.”

“I was not _worried_ about her. But I could not sleep.” Siora made a face. “I do not know your word for it, but she makes noises in her sleep…she sounds like a dying _vaileg_.”

She did her best to imitate the sound, and Kurt laughed. “That’s called snoring, pretty twig. She snores.”

“She is as loud as a herd of _lewolan_!” Siora frowned. “I will have to ask the _on ol menawi_ if she will let me share her tent.” 

“Let Green Blood keep her own tent,” Kurt said. “I’ll talk to Vasco. We’ll share a tent, and you can take mine.” When they’d first begun journeying together, Kurt and Vasco had shared one tent, de Sardet and Siora the other; only when they’d met with Petrus had de Sardet made arrangements to secure everyone their own tent.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure,” he answered. “The sailor won’t mind, I’m sure.”

“Won’t mind what?” Vasco asked.

“Sharing a tent with me.”

Vasco gave him a wry smile. “Is there any particular reason? Do you think that our new friend is going to try to sneak into the tents at night to kill us while we sleep, or have you missed my handsome face being the first one you see when you wake in the morning? I did not think you were inclined to favor our own sex, but if my striking good looks have made you reconsider…” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kurt said, letting out a guffaw of amusement as Siora smiled. “But the little one’s not getting any sleep. Our Bridger friend apparently snores.”

“Like a dying _vaileg_!”

Vasco laughed, all the harder when Aphra emerged from the tent stretching her arms and proclaiming, “There’s nothing like a good night’s sleep to refresh oneself. I can’t remember the last time I had such a long period of uninterrupted rest.”

If looks could have killed, Siora’s glower would have struck Aphra dead, and Kurt couldn’t help joining in Vasco’s laughter. That drew Aphra’s attention, and she frowned. “What do you find so amusing?”

“Nothing you’d want to hear,” Kurt said.

“Did you and de Sardet make any more of that ointment?” Vasco asked.

“We can make more before setting out, if de Sardet agrees.” Aphra looked around. “Where is she?”

“Green Blood’s never been much of an early riser,” said Kurt. “She’s not a morning person.” She wasn’t as bad as Constantin, who would have preferred to start all of his mornings after midday, but Alexandra de Sardet had never enjoyed rising with the sun, and Kurt tried to let her sleep whenever possible.

“That’s a shame,” said Aphra. “I’ve always preferred rising with the sun. I see that the rest of you are already up…except for the bishop.”

“The old fox likes getting up earlier than any of us,” Kurt answered. _If I had my choice, I’d certainly prefer to stay in bed instead of rising with the dawn._ His own training had often awakened him long before that, and a combination of habit and the desire to be up and ready before de Sardet meant that he rose relatively early. Vasco did the same; he suspected it was because the Nauts kept a similar schedule to the Coin Guard, starting their day early.

“Then where is he?”

“The bishop prefers spending mornings in his tent,” said Vasco. “He’ll be awake, but he says he spends the earliest time of his day at prayer…and he does seem to be more fastidious about his appearance than the rest of us.”

“I do not know why,” said Siora. “It is rare for him to take off his helmet. Until we went into the swamp, he did not remove either his helmet or his armor.”

“It’s a common gesture among the priests of Theleme,” said Aphra. “Something about fighting for their faith, or being ever-ready to battle the so-called demons who oppose their god…although I think it far more likely that most of them are more concerned about political assassinations than a demon manifesting itself in the halls of one of their palaces.” She looked around the wilderness. “Here, of course, the calculation may be different; the natives are always dangerous.”

Siora glowered at her. “Careful,” Vasco told her. “You’re starting to look like Kurt.”

“Good. Maybe I will frighten her away.”

“Hey!” Kurt objected. 

“It is not a bad thing for a warrior to look fearsome, _cengots_ ,” Siora reassured him. “Any who know you know that you are a kind man.”

“A kind man who threatens to kill the people his employer is rescuing,” Aphra said.

“You were pointing a gun at his employer’s head,” Vasco pointed out. “I’d have done the same in his place.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Aphra said, and walked away.

“Well, so much for trying to make friends,” said Vasco.

“Were you trying?” Kurt asked.

“I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show we were willing to talk to her,” said Vasco. “It would make for a less awkward night around the campfire.”

“She is a lion,” Siora said. “Our people are at war. It will never be anything but awkward.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking at Petrus’s tent. “It is bad enough that this mind-shaker has chosen to follow us, but I do not wish to share a camp with a lion, even if she is only a sage.” She looked balefully at Aphra, whose rifle was still holstered on her hip. “She says she is a sage, but she carries weapons like one of their warriors. She says this expedition was supposed to be for learning, but how do we know she tells the truth?”

“That camp wasn’t set up by soldiers,” said Kurt. “I believe her on that. And a soldier wouldn’t have died with a spear in his back, running away from the fight.”

“I’d still hesitate to trust her, but de Sardet will want to give her the benefit of the doubt,” said Vasco. 

“Green Blood trusts everyone,” Kurt agreed. “I hope the way they were introduced has put her on her guard, but if not, we’ll have to look out for her.” He was glad to see the others nod in agreement: Siora and Vasco had both become true friends to de Sardet. _The pretty twig has been kind to her since the queen's burial, and the sailor started to thaw when we got that file for him, though I don't think he truly appreciated her until we met that waste of a brother of his._ As far as Kurt was concerned, it was far past time that someone else had recognized de Sardet's merits. _It's good to know there are others who'll help me watch her back._

"I agree with Vasco. I do not like this lion," Siora said, frowning. "I do not think we can trust her. Or her people." She folded her arms across her chest. "The mind-shaker is right. We should have left her in the swamp. I wish we could put her back." 

“Hopefully, we won’t have to put up with her for long,” said Kurt. “Scout out the site today, sneak in to rescue the scholars after nightfall today or tomorrow, and get back to Hikmet with them before the natives know they’re gone.”

“That sounds like a wise plan,” said Petrus, emerging from his tent. Kurt was amused to see that he was in his usual full ceremonial armor, helmet and all. “Where is the legate?”

“I am here,” said de Sardet, emerging from the tent. “I wanted to make sure that I had sufficient haze potions for the rescue attempt. They may help keep us from being seen.” She frowned. “I was not sure if I ought to wear an embroidered doublet or this,” she said; she had put on a brown guard’s doublet that she often wore for practice in the training yard. “I have only worn formal attire when representing the Congregation, but—”

“I don’t think you’ll be negotiating with anyone, Green Blood,” Kurt replied. “That’s a better choice.”

“It will also be better camouflage,” Vasco pointed out. “The blue of the Congregation does not tend to blend in with nature.”

After breakfast, they packed up the camp, and Aphra led them up a cliff, through a cave system, and to an overlook near the _doneia esgregaw_ camp: more ruins, similar to the ones they had seen near the battlefield. “These ruins are being used as a camp by the native raiders.”

“There are so many of them,” de Sardet said: even at a distance, she could see the camp had at least a dozen guards stationed around the perimeter; most were clustered at the entrance, but others were on patrol. “Better to remain discreet.”

“I have spied on the camp and discovered where my colleagues are being held,” said Aphra. “They are being kept in the old walls of the main ruin.”

“As the natives said,” said de Sardet.

“We should wait until nightfall and look around the camp to find a more discreet way to get inside,” said Aphra. “If we go now, they’re sure to see us.”

“Perhaps some of us should remain behind,” said de Sardet. “Half a dozen of us are sure to be seen…and I only have so many haze potions.”

“A party of three should be sufficient,” said Kurt. “You and I can take the pretty twig. If we get caught, she’ll be able to talk to the natives, and I’ll be able to fight.” He thought of his long-ago training. _I’d rather forget, but I learned more than combat in that camp._ The ghost camp's lessons had been tailored toward assassination and midnight abductions, but the principles would apply to rescuing hostages. “I know a little about getting in and out of a fortress unseen.”

“I will not be left behind,” Aphra declared. “I fully intend to participate in this rescue. I’m not one to sit around and twiddle thumbs.” She paused. “Besides, if I go with you, my colleagues will be more likely to accept their rescue. If you made the attempt, I do not know how well they would react.”

“Well, they’re not likely to have guns to point at her,” said Kurt.

“But they may well scream, or argue, or demand answers you will not have time to give,” Aphra replied. “I may have heard of the governor’s cousin who looks like an islander, but I guarantee you that some of my colleagues will not have paid attention to the latest developments in politics. If they see someone who looks like an islander, accompanied by another islander, with a man who’s as likely to threaten them as he is to rescue them, they’re not likely to follow you unquestioningly.”

Kurt didn’t like the idea of having Aphra along, but he did have to admit her argument made sense.

“We could simply abandon you all to your fate,” said Petrus. “I would still favor returning to Hikmet, informing Governor Burhan of the scholars’ plight, and allowing him to send soldiers from his own city to liberate them. I do not see why this is your concern.”

“If we do that, he will undoubtedly return with an army, and there will be more bloodshed,” de Sardet replied. “I hope to forge links of trust between the Congregation and the natives; we can hardly do that if I allow them to be slaughtered. If I inform Governor Burhan of their location, their blood will be on my hands.”

“Any more than it was when you informed him of that native scout?” Vasco argued.

“That was different,” said de Sardet. “The natives could have chosen not to attack when they saw that the patrol routes had been changed. Had I remained silent, they would have slaughtered the Bridge Alliance’s soldiers. Here, I have the opportunity to avoid further bloodshed on either side.”

“By risking your own neck,” said Vasco.

“It’s the honorable thing to do,” Kurt spoke up; he knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t help but be proud of de Sardet for her willingness to attempt the rescue. _I’ve no love for these scholars, but I’m glad she’s willing to help them._

“Why does ‘honorable’ so often seem like it’s a synonym for ‘foolish?’” Vasco asked.

“I’ll be glad to help you, Green Blood,” Kurt told her, even as Petrus frowned.

“I must agree with Captain Vasco. This is terribly dangerous. You’ll be risking your own life, as well as the lives of your companions, to do something that Governor Burhan cannot have expected of you. He only wished you to discover the expedition’s fate. Well, you have discovered it, and now you can return to Hikmet to inform him of what has befallen them, and to let him decide the proper course of action.”

“If we do not go, the natives will undoubtedly kill the scholars,” said de Sardet. “Whether in revenge for their own dead, or out of anger when Governor Burhan brings an army to storm this camp, they will not survive for long. I’m unsure why the natives have kept them alive for this long.”

“They may hope to trade them as hostages,” said Siora. “Or they may be arguing over what to do. I am sure some will want to kill them for vengeance, but others may want to see if the lions will ransom them.”

“Governor Burhan will not agree to any sort of ransom. He has often said that we will not negotiate with sav—natives,” Aphra corrected herself, glancing at Siora.

“If that is the case, time is truly of the essence,” said de Sardet. “Kurt, Siora, Aphra, and I will participate in the rescue. Vasco, Petrus, you will remain here, at our camp, and keep watch. If it appears that we are in trouble…if we are captured or worse…then return to New Serene at once.”

“New Serene? Not Hikmet?” Vasco asked.

“Governor Burhan is not likely to listen to either of us,” Petrus told him. “I would be lucky if I could enter the city alone without being turned away, let alone the palace.”

“And he does not seem the sort to listen to a lowly Naut captain,” Vasco said, nodding. “I see your point.”

“Besides, as our…ally…from the Bridge has observed, Governor Burhan will not ransom his own scholars. I doubt he would lift a finger for a legate from the Congregation,” said Petrus.

“Where Constantin would raise an army to rescue you,” Kurt said to de Sardet. “He’d be ordering Commander Torsten to take all three companies to this camp…and he’d be at the head of the army, leading it himself.”

“I hope that won’t prove necessary,” said de Sardet, but she smiled. “Constantin has wanted to get out to see the rest of the island…”

“You can take him on a grand tour later,” Kurt replied.

They prepared as best they could, noting the paths the patrols took, making notes of likely places to scout once they neared the fortress, and getting the lay of the land nearer their camp: they dispatched some wild beasts that got too close, though Kurt hoped the report of Vasco’s pistol and the howls of the dying animals hadn’t carried to the fortress. He thought they got lucky: no native scouts came to investigate, and the surrounding area stayed quiet. 

As night fell, de Sardet distributed phials of haze potion. “We’ll take it once we get closer,” she said. “Wait for my signal. And remember what the natives told us: we’ll have to look for a key once we get inside.”

They crept down to the fortress, finding their way in through a crevice in the side wall. _Green Blood was always nimble,_ Kurt thought; as a child, she’d managed to hide herself away in the smallest corners, sneaking through narrow passageways and down half-obstructed corridors. _His Highness was never so talented._ He still remembered the day the two had gone to explore a closed-off wing of the palace; they’d found an old laundry shaft. _Green Blood climbed down without any trouble, but Constantin got stuck in the dumbwaiter._ Kurt had never quite been able to figure that one out: Alexandra de Sardet was slender, but Constantin had always been lanky, and as a boy he’d been stick-thin. Years of practice had given him some muscle tone, but at eleven, he’d been skinnier than his cousin, and only a little taller. _Green Blood came crying to me when she couldn’t figure out what to do._ _There was a time when I thought we’d have to knock a hole in the wall to get him out._

As he squeezed himself through that narrow opening in the wall, Kurt couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Constantin. _I don’t think the natives will be very friendly if they find a Coin Guard stuck in their fortress._ He took a deep breath as he cleared the passage, then dropped to a crouch next to de Sardet, shielded from view by a stone outcropping. Siora and Aphra both made it through without difficulty: Siora was slightly shorter than de Sardet, with a similar slender build, while Aphra was smaller still.

“Now,” de Sardet whispered, and held up a phial of haze potion. She downed it, and Kurt and the others followed suit. The world seemed to blur slightly around him, and everything shimmered, red and blue sparkles flickering around the edges of his gaze. “It won’t last long, so come on.”

Protected by the potion, they crept up a flight of steps, avoiding the native guards: there were a number of them, both patrolling the ground and the higher areas nearer the center of the ruins. The natives were careless: they found a spare key to the cell near the entrance to the cell itself, which de Sardet took with alacrity. “Let’s hurry,” she said, springing from her crouch to dash down the steps. “If one of the guards sees that the key is gone, we’ll be in trouble.”

The haze faded from Kurt’s vision as they moved down the steps and into the building the natives had converted into a cell. It seemed that the building had originated as a jail: there were many iron-barred cells in the basement, and Kurt knew immediately they could not have been native make. _They don’t work iron like this._ He’d seen the native merchant in New Serene selling gold and silver jewelry, and a few native swords worked from iron, but the cell’s bars looked precisely like those in the dungeons of Serene.

“We’re here to help,” de Sardet said as she unlocked the cell. “My name is de Sardet. I am the legate of the Merchant Congregation. I was sent by Governor Burhan to find you. I have one of your companions here.”

A woman stepped out of the cell. She was pale, with an aristocratic Bridge accent and beret and armored kaftan that were identical to Aphra’s. “Aphra? Is that you?”

“Celia,” Aphra said, clearly relieved. “Yes, it’s me. Is everyone all right?”

“Yes. You know Darjan is dead, but they haven’t harmed the rest of us.” She looked from de Sardet to Kurt to Siora, and Kurt saw her look of revulsion as her gaze lingered on Siora. “How did you convince the Congregation to send a rescue party? And why have they brought a savage?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we’re safe. Come quickly! We don’t have much time,” Aphra replied.

“The natives don’t know we’re here. Crouch down when you reach the top of the steps, and remain absolutely silent; we’ll have to sneak out,” said de Sardet.

“Sneak out?”

“Unless you’d rather remain here, yes,” said de Sardet. “There are far too many natives to think of fighting.”

“And none of you are fighters,” said Kurt.

Celia looked as if she might argue, but thought better of it. Instead, she turned and went up the stairs, the other two members of the expedition following.

“After you,” de Sardet told Aphra, gesturing. 

Aphra moved up the stairs, but paused for a moment as she moved past de Sardet. “Thank you for your help.”

“Do not thank me yet! We are still in a shipload of danger.”

“Shipload?” Kurt asked, amused, as they moved back up the stairs. “I would’ve said boatload, myself, but the sailor’s rubbing off on you.”

He fell silent as they reached the top of the steps. This time, de Sardet had them divide their remaining vials of haze potion among the entire expedition. “It won’t last very long,” she cautioned them. “We must hurry.”

They did, but instead of retracing their path, the expedition leader pointed to a narrow passage along the building’s edge. “When they were bringing us in, I saw one of them using that,” she said. “There’s a ladder that leads to a path that’s cut into the hillside. We can get out that way.”

“If we go that way, you won’t have to worry about anyone getting stuck in that wall,” said Kurt. “Let’s hope the Bridger’s right.”

She was. They made their way out of the camp without encountering a single native, and Kurt heard one of the scholars breathe a sigh of relief as their feet touched the ground outside the camp’s walls. “Don’t relax yet,” he whispered. “These hills will be crawling with natives once they realize you’re gone.”

“Vasco and Petrus will have broken camp by the time we return,” de Sardet whispered. “We’ll make for Hikmet, as quickly as we can. With any luck, it will be some time before the natives realize you’re gone.”

“They usually check on us when the patrol changes, around dawn,” said Celia. “Hopefully, that will give us a few hours’ head start.”

“I only hope that will be enough,” said de Sardet.

“Why would you attempt a rescue with a handful of people? Surely you could have returned to Hikmet for a regiment of Coin Guard. That’s why we hire them.”

“If you’d prefer, we can return you to that cell,” Kurt said. “Then you can await a rescue that’s more to your liking.”

De Sardet shot him a look, but didn’t reprimand him; that alone told him how annoyed she was by the scholars’ reaction to their rescue. 

They crept back to camp, but as they ascended a hill, they were rushed by a group of natives. _Coming from the wrong direction,_ Kurt thought, alarmed. _Did they find our camp?_ They were very nearly to the campsite, and the trio of natives would have outnumbered Vasco and Petrus. _Or are they scouts? If they knew of the Bridgers’ escape, there would be more than three of them in the search party._

“Wait,” de Sardet called out, just as Siora said something in the native tongue, but neither woman’s pleas did any good: the natives rushed them, and Kurt unsheathed his weapon. The fight was quick: a burst of shadow from de Sardet flung one man onto his back, while vines from Siora entangled a second. A third man charged Kurt, but Kurt swung his sword, knocking him back. The man recovered his footing and tried to charge again, but this time, Kurt’s answering blow sent his weapon flying. The warrior scrambled backwards, but Kurt saw that his companions were in equally bad shape: one was holding one of his arms with the other, blood spreading from a wound courtesy of Siora, and de Sardet was standing over their leader, magic swirling around her hands.

“ _Trocared_! Mercy!” the leader called out. “You have defeated us! Spare us our lives!”

The expedition leader advanced, hatred blazing in her eyes. “If you spare them, they will only hunt us down until we are all dead!”

“Remember Darjan!” one of the other scholars called out. Kurt did remember the scholar, his corpse face-down in the dirt with a spear in his back.

“No, you have our word, we have been bested, we will let you move on in peace!” the lead warrior promised. He got to his feet; as he did so, Kurt could see him clutching at his side, the scorch mark of magic unmistakable.

“How can we trust you?” Aphra demanded. “You attacked our camp when we were not even armed!”

Kurt eyed her rifle with skepticism, remembering the blade de Sardet had sent flying from her hands. _Her friends might not have been able to use their own weapons, but they weren’t entirely unarmed._

The expedition leader nodded her agreement. “They are savages! They had us caged like beasts!” 

“We only sought to learn where _you_ have caged _our_ people!”

“Spare their lives, I beg you!” Siora said. “They were only fighting to save the lives of those that have disappeared!”

“Are you really going to listen to that savage?” one of the scientists sneered.

“Yes,” de Sardet replied. “I am not going to murder men who have surrendered.” She turned to the native warriors. “Very well. Leave, and I hope you keep your word.”

“Thank you, _on ol menawi_. I have spoken, and I will honor my words. _Kwa awelem seg_!”

She was relieved to find Petrus and Vasco waiting at their campsite. “Come,” she said.

“You got out without being seen, then? The natives didn’t find you?”

“We ran into a party of their warriors on the way back, but we defeated them in battle. They have promised to let us go.”

“We are no longer in danger,” Aphra agreed. “Thank you for your help, de Sardet.”

“How can you say that?” Celia, the leader of the expedition, demanded. “Aphra, you know as well as I that the natives are not trustworthy.” She looked to de Sardet. “You should have killed them all.”

“They had surrendered,” de Sardet protested.

“Only because they were wounded. They can’t be trusted.”

“You really expected her to massacre those helpless men to answer your demands?” Petrus asked.

“Given that she’s the one who rescued you, I don’t think you have the right to be making demands of the legate,” Vasco added.

“Why is a legate of the Congregation rescuing us anyway?” one of the men asked.

“And why is she with a priest from Theleme, a Naut, and one of the savages?” asked the other.

“Governor Burhan asked me to look into the matter,” de Sardet said. “You had not reported back, and I had discovered the fate of a missing merchant caravan nearer Hikmet.”

“But why would you agree?”

“I must admit, the reasons for my being here are not entirely selfless,” de Sardet confessed. “Your research to find a remedy for the malichor could save many lives in our cities as well.”

“You speak like a true woman of science.,” said Celia. She had been speaking in a low tone with Aphra, and now spoke to de Sardet with a more conciliatory tone. “Then you’ll be thrilled to learn your heroic efforts to save us from those savages could help. We’ve made a discovery!”

“Is that right? In that case, we need to speak with Governor Burhan immediately.”


	60. Return to Hikmet

The journey back to Hikmet went well. Aphra spent most of it speaking with her colleagues, explaining her own ordeal and how de Sardet had found her. Meanwhile, Celia spoke to her of the time they had spent in the native prison, cold and hungry, guarded by sullen warriors who didn’t speak their language and occasionally questioned by Daren, their leader, who did.

“It was awful,” said Celia. “I kept thinking of poor Darjan.”

“We were all wondering if we were going to be next!” Berat said. “The way some of them looked at us, we knew they wanted us dead.”

Tarek nodded. “I wish Governor Burhan had sent an army of Coin Guard to liberate us.”

“You should have gone back to Hikmet yourself,” said Celia. “Did you think you were going to liberate us single-handedly?”

“I could have,” said Aphra. “I wouldn’t have needed de Sardet to do what we did. One person could have snuck in as well as four.” She did have to admit that de Sardet’s haze potions had been helpful, as well as the aid they’d given her in scouting the site.

“So that’s the new legate,” said Celia, looking at de Sardet, who was walking ahead of them; the others were relating their story of rescue to Petrus and Vasco. “She really does look like an islander. If she wasn’t wearing Congregation clothing, I’d have assumed she was a savage.”

“It’s a strange party she has there,” said Berat. “The Coin Guard, I understand, but the others? How did she even get one of the savages to follow her?”

“I’m not sure, but they’re close,” Aphra replied. Siora had little interest in talking to her, and the others distrusted her nearly as much.

“What about the Naut?”

“From what I understand, the Nauts assigned a liaison to the Congregation legate,” Aphra replied. “Given that the bishop is Theleme’s ambassador to the Congregation, he doesn’t seem to have a counterpart in San Matheus, but the Nauts’ relations with Theleme have always been strained.”

“Where the Nauts and the Congregation are traditionally allies,” said Celia. Unlike Tarek and Berat, she had a fairly good grasp of politics.

_She’s always understood people better than I do,_ Aphra thought. _It’s one reason she was made the leader of our expedition._ Unlike Aphra, Celia had always understood the importance of being personable to others.

“Do you think the Nauts are looking to renew their former closeness with the Congregation? Their alliance used to be exclusive.”

“I’ve no idea,” Aphra replied. “I’ve only spent one night in their company, and they weren’t very welcoming.”

Celia laughed. “I’m sure you have no idea why.” Celia had been another of Doctor Asili’s apprentices; she had come to Teer Fradee on the same ship as Aphra, and they had worked in the same laboratories together for years. _It took her longer to leave, but she was just as discomfited by the changes in the doctor as I was._ Aphra wasn’t sure if Celia would consider her a friend, but they were certainly acquaintances, and Celia understood her better than most. _I wouldn’t pretend to understand her…or people in general._ Aphra was far more comfortable in a laboratory than among others.

“I may have introduced myself to the legate with my rifle,” Aphra admitted, and Celia’s laughter died away as she stared at her in disbelief. “I thought she was a native!”

“Dressed like that?”

“It isn’t impossible. She was tracking me through the swamp, and I had seen her stop and question a group of native scouts. How was I to know she wasn’t one of them?”

“The Coin Guard behind her who looks like he’s two meters tall?”

“He wasn’t near her at the time.” Aphra rubbed at one of the mosquito bites she’d taken. “And I wasn’t in the best frame of mind. I hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days, I was covered in bites from mosquitoes, gnats, and flies from the swamp, and I thought I’d never know what it felt like to be dry again.”

“So you pulled a gun on our rescuers.”

“Only on de Sardet. But the rest of them haven’t forgiven me for it. They seem very fond of her.”

“What is your opinion of them?” Celia frowned. “De Sardet seems sympathetic to the savages.”

“For sparing them? I do not know that she is sympathetic to the natives so much as soft-hearted,” Aphra replied. “She does not seem at all bloodthirsty…and she does seem intelligent, which is more than I can say for the Coin Guard or the Naut.” Aphra’s opinion of the mercenary guilds wasn’t very high. “I’m sure she’s hired the Coin Guard to look menacing and to strike people with his sword when the occasion calls for it, and the Naut seems to be much in the same vein. I haven’t spoken much to the native; she blames us for taking her people, just as our attackers did.”

“And the bishop from Theleme?”

“Despises me as much as I despise him. What is there to be said? He largely keeps to his tent in any case. The others seem to be friends, but from what I gather, he only recently began traveling with them.”

“Lady Aphra?” de Sardet asked as they drew near the city. “How are your people? I would like to stop at the embassy to change into more suitable attire for the palace, and I thought that perhaps you might like refreshment.”

“We are hungry,” Tarek admitted.

“I’d like to try to see about patching up my arm,” Berat added. “Those savages manhandled me when putting me in that cell.”

“And Tarek hurt his leg,” Celia added.

“I thought it had healed, but walking on it is proving otherwise,” Tarek agreed.

“It isn’t broken, but it is swollen. I believe it to be a bad sprain. Also, you’ve strained some of the ligaments further by walking on it.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you leave me there,” he objected.

“We can treat it once we get somewhere with proper supplies,” said Aphra. “I’d prefer not to do it in the field when we’re so close to Hikmet.”

“We can stop at the embassy,” said de Sardet. “I’m sure we’ll all want something to eat.”

“And you might want to get some sleep before heading to the palace,” Kurt suggested. “You’ve been up for more than a day straight, Green Blood.”

"So have you," de Sardet replied, "and Siora, for that matter...though I don't plan on asking Siora to accompany me to see the governor. We could all use some rest." 

But as they entered the city, one of the guards exclaimed, “Legate de Sardet! With the expedition! Governor Burhan asked us to inform him if we saw you.”

“He thought you might have been lost along with the expedition,” added the other.

“I did not think we were in the wilderness for that long,” de Sardet said, frowning.

“He gave orders for us to escort you to the palace immediately if you were found. Something about Governor d’Orsay having expressed concern for your welfare.” The guard frowned. “It seemed he was not best pleased at the prospect of having sent you into lands where it’s known the natives were hostile.”

“Perhaps Governor d’Orsay discovered how our previous legate met his end,” Celia suggested in a low voice. The look that one of the guards gave her suggested that it might indeed have been the case.

“Governor Burhan believed that the natives might be less hostile toward a legate from the Congregation,” the first guard said.

“Or he thought the legate from the Congregation would be more expendable,” Celia suggested; she shared Aphra's opinion of the governor, and Aphra suspected that Celia's opinion of him had only been worsened by the discovery that he'd delegated their rescue to a tiny group of foreigners instead of sending a battalion of soldiers from the Green-Azure Regiment. 

“I will be happy to see Governor Burhan,” said de Sardet. “But the surviving members of the expedition are tired and wounded, and we’ve just covered a great deal of terrain on foot.” One of the scholars, Tarek, had ended up riding most of the way back in their supply wagon. “Would he consider allowing us to stop at the embassy first? We are rather hungry.”

“The governor’s orders were clear, Your Excellency,” said the guard. "You are to accompany us to the palace immediately, without delay." He led them through the streets of Hikmet and to the embassy; the other guard promised to see that the supply wagon was taken back to the embassy stables. As Aphra had expected, Tarek was unable to walk; as he was by far the tallest member of the expedition, he ended up with one arm around Kurt’s shoulders, the other around Petrus’s.

She thought that someone would stop Petrus as they entered, but no one did; the Coin Guard at the gate apparently thought his orders included bringing the entire party to the throne room, and Petrus didn’t attempt to raise the issue as they passed through the palace doors. De Sardet didn’t say anything either, and Aphra wondered if the potential problem had even crossed her mind. _She’s brought a native and a bishop from Theleme into our palace,_ she thought. _We’re at war with both of them. I'm certainly no diplomat, but it seems to me that it might cause an incident._

“Governor Burhan,” the guard announced as they entered the throne room; Burhan was deep in discussion with one of his courtiers, but dismissed the man as soon as he saw them.

“Lady de Sardet! And our expedition! I thank you sincerely for having brought them back, Your Excellency, you are a providential woman!”

“Please, sir. It was you who convinced me and my cousin of the capital importance of their research.”

“Research that has borne fruit, Your Excellency!” Celia interrupted.

“Truly? This is excellent news! You have found a plant with sufficient properties?”

“Not exactly. Know that during our captivity, an island woman visited the camp. The natives called her _tierna harh cadacthas_ , and treated her with utmost reverence. I heard them talk about a remedy – a universal remedy, it seems – that she had concocted.”

“Incredible! To think that what we have been searching for all these years could have been created by a savage! We must converse with this woman, and in haste!”

“We would be happy to assist in this matter, Governor, but I fear we would not be particularly well-received,” said Celia.

“If obtaining a cure for the malichor is at stake, I would be happy to take charge of the matter,” de Sardet offered.

“I would like to accompany you, if the governor gives me leave,” said Aphra. “I will not miss an occasion to meet the woman who elaborated such an important panacea!”

“Accorded,” said Burhan. “It is only right that one of our own participate on the expedition that will restore health to our continent!”

“Very well,” said de Sardet. “We shall do all in our power to find that woman.”

Only then did the governor seem to notice Petrus. “What are _you_ doing here? Who are you?” He raised his voice. “Guards!”

De Sardet stepped forward. “Bishop Petrus is with me,” she protested, which only seemed to increase Burhan’s anger.

“You dare bring a member of an enemy nation into my palace? The Bridge Alliance and Theleme are at war. I have explicitly banned any citizen of Theleme from setting foot in this palace, let alone a bishop—”

“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” Petrus said, his voice ringing out. Petrus was a tall man, and his armor lent him an imposing air; as he stepped forward, Aphra had to stifle a smile as Burhan shrank back in his seat: given that Burhan was surrounded by Coin Guard in the heart of Hikmet, his fear seemed more than a little ridiculous.

_The ban on citizens of Theleme is ridiculous,_ Aphra thought. _What could a single man or woman do? They may have magic, but we have rifles, and no magic can stop a bullet to the skull._ Burhan seemed to realize the stupidity of his cowardice as well, or at least how foolish it made him look. He sat a little straighter in his seat, frowning at Petrus as the bishop spoke.

“I’m sure that Legate de Sardet would have been happy to leave me in the embassy. However, I was brought here by _your_ guards, upon _your_ orders,” Petrus said; his tone was cordial, but every word was sharp, and ‘your guards’ and ‘your orders’ were punctuated like a knife-thrust.

“What do you mean?”

“The guards at the city gate informed us that you had instructed them to bring Legate de Sardet and her party to you directly upon her arrival in the city. In fact, the legate asked those guards if we could be allowed to stop at the embassy before coming here. If they had permitted it, I would have remained there, along with certain…other…of our companions who you might have found objectionable,” Petrus said, with a pointed look to Siora, who was glowering fiercely at Burhan.

_If looks could kill, the governor would be a moldering corpse,_ Aphra couldn’t help thinking. Siora’s arms were folded across her chest, her attention fixed on Burhan with unwavering intensity.

“However, you instructed your guards to bring the legate and her entire party directly to you…at least, that is what they told us. Was that not the case?”

“No…well, yes…I did not mean for you to bring priests and savages into this palace!” Burhan snapped at the nearest Coin Guard. “You should have known better than that. I wanted to see the legate and our scholars.”

“Your orders were clear, sir,” the guard stammered, attempting to hold his own. “The Congregation legate and anyone with her were to be taken to you immediately upon her return to the city. Anyone. You did not say to exclude anyone.”

“I certainly did not know she would be traveling with a priest and a savage!”

“A bishop,” Petrus corrected him icily. “As well as a native princess…one of their shamans, in fact.”

“ _Doneigada_ ,” Siora corrected him. She glowered at Burhan. “I am Siora, daughter of Bladnid, daughter of Meb, a _doneigad_ of the _gais rad_.”

“I must confess myself surprised that you have earned the friendship of one of the native sages,” Burhan said to de Sardet, ignoring Siora’s introduction completely, though Aphra noticed the way his gaze fell upon Siora’s marking.

_It is a mark common to their sages,_ Aphra thought. _At first, we believed that the natives saw that marking as a sign that a child was destined to become one of their sages, and that only those born with such a mark would be permitted to join their priesthood or become a healer._ But they had learned that the marking could be acquired as well as inherited, and that those who chose to become sages performed some sort of ritual that led to their developing the mark. _But there are some who are born with it, like de Sardet. I wonder if Siora was born with hers, or if she acquired that marking after she became a_ doneigad _…and if how the mark is acquired affects the resistance to the malichor that it seems to convey._ Those were all questions that Doctor Asili, her former mentor, had wanted to investigate, and that Aphra had given up looking into when she had turned her back on him. _I must admit, it still intrigues me. Perhaps traveling with de Sardet will allow me to learn more about Siora and her people._

Siora saw the way Burhan was looking at her as well, and she tensed, glancing from Burhan to the Coin Guard as if expecting one of them to try to attack. De Sardet saw it too, and spoke up. “Siora asked for my help in averting hostilities between her people and the Bridge Alliance,” she said. “Unfortunately, we arrived too late to prevent the battle, but Siora has chosen to remain with me in the hopes that we can learn more about one another, and perhaps find a way to avert further bloodshed.”

“She was part of the native tribe that rose against us?”

“I told you, I am a daughter of Bladnid, of the _gais rad_ ,” Siora said, unable to contain her anger. “You killed my mother and you do not know her name?”

“Your mother took up arms against us,” Burhan replied, his own anger rising. "She is responsible for the deaths of dozens of good soldiers of the Bridge Alliance, as well as those of her own people. Your people attack ours. They slaughter unarmed merchants on the roads and scholars in the wilderness, though we do not know why—”

“You ask the question why?” Siora broke in. “You steal our lands, gouging the earth in sacred places, and now our people are disappearing…it’s enough to drive one to unsheathe a blade, don’t you agree?”

De Sardet looked pained. “Siora, please, I understand how you feel, but this isn’t the right time,” she said in a low voice; reaching out, she put a hand over Siora’s, giving it a brief squeeze.

Siora nodded, then let out a sigh. “I am sorry, you are right,” she conceded, then looked to Burhan. “My apologies, Your Excellence, continue please.”

Burhan pursed his lips, frowning. “Hmm…as I was saying…” He cleared his throat. “I was not aware that you would be traveling with such…unusual company. Had I known, I would certainly not have worded my order as I did.”

“I am an ambassador of Theleme,” Petrus observed. “Specifically, I am Theleme’s ambassador to the Congregation of Merchants on Teer Fradee. Similarly, Siora could be seen as an envoy of her own people to the Congregation. It seems to me that you should not be so surprised that a diplomat has gathered other diplomats about her…though perhaps the Bridge Alliance is so unused to cooperating with its fellow nations that you have forgotten this?” Petrus raised an eyebrow, not waiting for Burhan’s response before he asked, “Tell me, did you inform Legate de Sardet of your own ambassador’s fate before you sent her into the wilderness? It would generally be considered common courtesy to let a foreign legate know that her predecessor was murdered before requesting that she attempt the same task…at least, it would be in Theleme, though we generally do not ask that our allies handle our most difficult affairs of state for us.”

“You…you dare…” Burhan sputtered.

“I was unaware of Ambassador Mazar’s fate,” de Sardet interrupted coolly. “However, I am pleased that I was able to end the attacks on the merchant caravans where he failed…and that I have returned your scholars to you safely, though I regret that one was killed before we found them.”

“Darjan,” Aphra supplied. “He was killed in the natives’ initial attack on our camp.” Celia supplied most of the details; after all, Aphra had been in her own tent, sheltered and out of sight, and she had missed much of the initial confusion. She went on to supply her own account of their capture, while Aphra interjected with details of her escape, hiding in the swamp, and her meeting with de Sardet, though she omitted the part where she’d pointed her rifle at de Sardet’s face.

Thankfully, de Sardet chose not to mention it either; she told Burhan of how she had snuck into the natives’ camp with Siora and Kurt, freeing the scholars without further loss of life. To Aphra’s consternation, Berat did interject with his displeasure at the later confrontation. “The legate could have killed them all, but she let them go.”

“They had promised to let us go,” de Sardet objected. “We rescued you without killing anyone; killing them would only have soured relations between our people.”

“Our people are at war,” Burhan said. “You could not have worsened anything by killing them.”

“My people are not at war with the natives,” de Sardet replied. “Nor would I look to start one. You asked me to rescue your people, and I have done so; had you asked me to kill natives, I would not have agreed. I am a legate; I have come to Teer Fradee to make peace, not to fight a war…particularly one the Congregation has no part in.” She straightened. “Governor, my companions and I have come here at your command. If I had been allowed to do so, I would have sought medical treatment for your injured scholars, asked Bishop Petrus and Princess Siora to remain at the embassy for their own safety as well as for your comfort, and I would have taken the time to make myself more presentable.” She took a moment to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear, smoothing down the plain brown guard’s doublet she wore instead of any Congregation finery. “Might I ask why you ordered I be escorted here immediately upon my arrival?”

“I only wished to learn more about the fate of the expedition,” Burhan replied, taken aback. “And – I will confess that your cousin has sent several missives expressing his displeasure at the favors I requested. I promised him that I would inform him of your safety as soon as I could be assured of it myself.”

“If you had left a message at the embassy, I could have done that myself,” de Sardet objected. “I am sure that one of the secretaries there would have written a message to Constantin reassuring him that I had returned safely.”

“There will be no need for that,” Burhan replied. He gestured with one hand. “Guard! Dispatch the message to Governor d’Orsay. Inform him that his cousin has safely returned to Hikmet…and that she has successfully retrieved our lost expedition. You will tell him that she has the Bridge Alliance’s most sincere thanks and gratitude.”

“I would believe more in the Bridge’s gratitude if he’d let us have a hot meal and a good night’s sleep,” Vasco muttered.

Petrus was more vocal in his displeasure. “Your gratitude would seem more sincere if you would permit us to return to the embassy. Legate de Sardet’s daring rescue was accomplished in the dead of night, and she has not slept; we have traveled all day without rest.”

“I would like to ensure the scholars receive medical treatment first,” de Sardet protested, but was unable to stifle a yawn. “They are injured.” She gestured to Berat’s arm, then to Tarek, who was still being entirely supported by Kurt and Petrus.

“Yes, yes,” said Burhan; with another impatient gesture, he sent a pair of Coin Guards forward to take the injured man from them. “You,” he added to Berat, “follow them, they’ll treat you. In fact, all of you should be examined for injuries.”

“Legate de Sardet already made sure my injuries were treated when she found me,” Aphra offered. “Thankfully, I was not hurt, only bitten by the insects in the swamp.”

“Then you can accompany the legate back to her embassy, if that’s what you want,” Burhan said, still snappish.

“I believe that’s what all of us want,” Petrus intervened, still utterly serene.

 _I swear, he takes joy in seeing Governor Burhan so upset._ Burhan grew more enraged every time he laid eyes on Petrus; the sight of a bishop of Theleme in his throne room infuriated him, but he was well aware that he had no cause to summarily eject him, and being forced to maintain at least a thin veneer of civility seemed to fluster him greatly. Meanwhile, Petrus only seemed to grow calmer as Burhan grew more upset, and his words sounded almost warm as he continued.

“Legate de Sardet and those who aided her in the rescue of your scholars would certainly appreciate their rest…as well as a meal, which the embassy will undoubtedly provide. The Congregation’s hospitality is always beyond reproach.” Somehow, Petrus’s tone managed to call Burhan out for not having offered refreshment, implying the lack without ever stating it outright. “And I am sure that you would prefer to be left alone to contemplate revising your orders…though I do not go as far as to suggest that my presence here would cause you to rethink your policies.”

“Why would that be the case?” Burhan sputtered.

Petrus only raised an eyebrow; his tone remained even. “I have managed to stand in your throne room for half an hour without burning the palace to the ground, attempting to assassinate you, or committing any other acts of perfidy that you seem to believe me capable of…though I would remind you that I am a diplomat, not an assassin. Perhaps in the Bridge Alliance, those distinctions are not as easily understood.”

“You come into my palace – you offer me insult—”

“I was forcibly ushered into this palace at your command,” Petrus reminded him, “and if you feel insulted, that was not my intention, and I would defy you to prove otherwise.” Aphra heard the wry twist of his voice at the end of his last sentence, as if he knew how much it would infuriate Burhan.

“I guarantee you, you will never enter this palace again!”

“That is no great loss,” Petrus observed mildly. “The construction of the throne room itself reminds me of the Mother Cardinal’s or Governor d’Orsay’s, but the décor leaves something to be desired. I understand that an outward show of wealth is often necessary for those in a position of power, but I have always thought that a certain amount of restraint and refinement to be equally necessary. Otherwise, you end up with a gaudy and tasteless display.” _Such as this._ He didn’t say those words aloud, didn’t even gesture to the room around him, but the way his eyes swept across Burhan’s throne, the carpets, and the curtains spoke volumes; even Aphra, who would be the first to admit she was often clueless about such nonverbal cues, understood his disdain perfectly. 

Burhan leaned forward in his seat, eyes burning with anger, but before he could respond, a sudden small giggle broke the silence. To Aphra’s surprise, she saw it was Siora: the _doneigad_ had a small smile upon her lips. “I am sorry,” she said, but looked again at Petrus, serenely standing before Burhan, and giggled again.

“My apologies,” de Sardet said smoothly. “Like Captain Kurt and myself, Siora has been awake for more than a full day…and as I am sure a renowned scholar such as yourself knows, effects of sleep deprivation often include laughing without reason. I am sure she means no disrespect…nor does Bishop Petrus.” De Sardet made the attempt to look severe as she turned her gaze toward Petrus, but Aphra doubted her sincerity.

“Certainly not,” Petrus said. “I am sorry if you feel offended, Governor.”

“ _If_?” With that, Burhan lost the last traces of his composure. “Get out of my sight.”

“With pleasure,” Petrus replied. “Should you ever send an emissary to San Matheus, I promise you that they will be treated with greater courtesy.” He paused. “And I would remind you that, in the future, should you ask any favors of Legate de Sardet, you would do well to remember that you are also asking them of me. I intend to accompany her on her travels indefinitely…as long as you do not ban me from the city of Hikmet, that is.”

“I would like nothing better than to do so, but…” Burhan saw that de Sardet was preparing to object, and amended, “…but as the legate has accomplished so much for the Bridge, and in the interests of preserving the friendship between the Congregation of Merchants and the Bridge Alliance, I would not bar any of her companions from the city…especially as it seems you aided in the rescue of our citizens.”

Aphra was about to open her mouth to tell Burhan precisely how little Petrus had done, but thought better of it. _I do want to accompany de Sardet to find this_ tierna harh cadachtas _. If a native has found a universal remedy, I would like to be there to speak with her…and someone from the Bridge Alliance ought to be there, so we can benefit as well as the Congregation and Theleme._

“I will have to satisfy myself with the knowledge that your actions have aided the Bridge,” Burhan said, and Aphra thought it was the first real riposte he’d managed to any of Petrus’s comments; she saw the bishop frown. “You have helped save the lives of nearly half a dozen of our citizens…more, if you count your actions in assisting Legate de Sardet in stopping the attacks on the merchant caravans. If you are satisfied with aiding your enemies, well…I will not stop you from committing treason.”

“The Mother Cardinal herself has instructed me to assist Legate de Sardet,” Petrus replied evenly. “It is not treason to aid our allies, especially at the behest of a superior.” He gestured to Aphra. “Or will you be instructing Lady Aphra to refuse to assist Legate de Sardet whenever her duties take her into San Matheus?”

"On the contrary," Burhan replied. "Lady Aphra will be at Legate de Sardet's service. If Theleme has seen fit to offer her the services of one of their most experienced diplomats, I can do no less than offer her the services of one of our most promising young scholars." 

“I’d hoped we would be leaving immediately to find the _tierna harh cadachtas_ ,” Aphra interrupted. “I don’t intend to go to San Matheus.”

“I fear that we will not be able to pursue this matter immediately,” de Sardet spoke up. “I have spent a great deal of time assisting the Bridge Alliance already; I cannot neglect my duties in New Serene. I will be returning to New Serene to attend to my duties there before I set out once more…and the Mother Cardinal did ask me to attend to some things for our allies in San Matheus, which I have neglected in order to aid your scholars.”

“I assure you, I will pursue this matter, but not immediately.” De Sardet glanced at Aphra. “I cannot tell you how long it will be before we are able to seek the _tierna harh cadacthas_. If you would prefer to remain in Hikmet, or to seek her out on your own, I would understand completely.”

 _Do you want to get rid of me?_ Aphra frowned. “I cannot seek her on my own; the natives despise the Bridge Alliance. They would tell me nothing.”

“As they would undoubtedly have told the legate nothing if she had killed their warriors in order to rescue you,” Petrus spoke up. “Do you still regret her showing them mercy?”

“I’m going with you,” Aphra said, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t care how long it takes, as long as you’re going to seek her out eventually, I’ll come with you.” She had nothing else holding her to the city; her notes could be organized in New Serene as well as Hikmet, and she knew that no further expeditions into the wilderness were likely to occur while the natives were engaged in open war with her people. _This will give me the chance to learn more. I can’t do that behind city walls._ “If you have a place for me, that is.”

“There’s plenty of room in the legate’s house,” de Sardet reassured her. “I would be glad to have you.”

Aphra couldn’t help but think she wasn’t entirely sincere: after all, none of the other companions had wanted her along, and she didn’t think de Sardet liked her very much. _I seem to have that effect on people._ But it meant that Aphra would be the first scientist in the Bridge Alliance to learn of a universal remedy, if there was one, and she couldn’t pass up that opportunity. _It won’t be the first time I’ve worked with a group of people who’ve disliked me…quite the opposite, in fact._ Her childhood in Olima, her studies in Al Saad, her tutelage under Doctor Asili, her expedition with Celia and the others: she had always clashed with her fellows.

 _I’ve never had to work with a bishop from Theleme…or a Coin Guard or a Naut, for that matter._ Aphra had sailed to Teer Fradee on a passenger vessel with Doctor Asili, Celia, and a number of her fellow scholars, but had not interacted with many Nauts; she’d spent much of the voyage miserably seasick, and when she was well enough, had spent more time speaking with her peers about the island than paying any attention to the sailors on deck. The same was true of the Coin Guard: she had seen plenty of guards, but had never paid them any mind. _I suppose I’ll be spending more time with them now._ She sighed inwardly as de Sardet turned back to Governor Burhan, offering him some final pleasantries.

“I would offer to host a dinner in your honor tomorrow, but I suspect you would prefer to return to New Serene.”

“Particularly as some of the guests of honor might prove inconvenient,” de Sardet said. “You could not honor my actions without also acknowledging those of Princess Siora. Princess Siora and Captain Kurt provided invaluable aid during the rescue of your scholars…without them, and without Lady Aphra, I could not have hoped to succeed. But I do understand that honoring Siora would be difficult when your people are at war…although I would like to believe that her actions may eventually serve as a foundation for peace.” She inclined her head graciously. “Because of that, I would suspect it might be better for both of us if I returned to New Serene without fanfare…especially if Constantin is worried.”

“He did seem extremely concerned for your safety.”

De Sardet smiled fondly. “That’s Constantin,” she said, and had to stifle another yawn. “My apologies, Your Excellency.”

“It’s quite all right,” Burhan replied, having regained a measure of graciousness at the prospect of hearing that Petrus would be leaving his city as soon as possible.

 _I’m sure he won’t be sorry to get rid of me, either._ Aphra had never liked the governor, and she thought the feeling was mutual.

“Farewell,” said de Sardet, and retreated.

As soon as she was out of the throne room, de Sardet sagged with exhaustion; Kurt moved toward her, looking concerned that she might collapse, but she reached for the railing before she could fall down the stairs. “Careful there, Green Blood. I don’t want to have to carry you out.”

“I think we all need sleep,” Vasco offered, yawning.

“And a meal,” Kurt added. “Let’s get back to the embassy.”

“Lady Aphra,” de Sardet said, remembering her, “do you need to collect any possessions from your home?”

“If you promise not to leave the city without me, I’ll gather them tonight and meet you in the morning,” Aphra replied. She shared an apartment with Celia near the alchemist’s shop; it wasn’t the nicest part of the city, but it was inexpensive, and had been relatively near Doctor Asili’s laboratory when she had been his student. “I gather I’ll need to pack a trunk.”

“If there’s anything you lack, let me know,” de Sardet said.

“De Sardet will provide you with a new wardrobe, if you let her,” Vasco said dryly.

“I know your spare coat was spoiled,” she said. “Once we get back to New Serene, I’ll make sure you have a replacement, along with some new boots and gloves…”

Vasco laughed, as did Kurt. “I think you’ll like it, sailor,” he said. “You may have changed your mind about wanting to be a lord, but I'll tell you, you'll still like wearing their linen. I know how much I appreciate it.” He looked to de Sardet with fondness, and she smiled back in a way that disconcerted Aphra; it seemed to belie the relationship she’d believed they’d had, that of a hired mercenary and the noblewoman he was contracted to protect.

 _This is a strange group,_ she thought, eyeing Petrus and Siora warily. Neither Petrus nor Siora seemed to like one another; they kept their distance, even now. _I doubt I’ll fit in with them…not that I’ve ever fit in anywhere._ But the prospect of finding a universal remedy was too tantalizing to give up, and Aphra had to admit that she had enjoyed seeing Petrus cut Burhan down to size. _I may not like this bishop any better than the governor, but I will admit he’s clever. I can respect that._

“Come on,” Kurt said, pushing open the door to the embassy. “We’ll get some food, then rest up before we head back to New Serene." 

_To New Serene,_ Aphra thought. _Perhaps I can find a way to make a new start with de Sardet and the others._ If not, it wouldn't be the first time she'd been an outsider, and she doubted it would be the last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Petrus is usually barred from entering the palace in Hikmet, I discovered that he will be automatically transported into the throne room if he's part of the rescue party during Scholars in the Expedition! Once I discovered that, I had to work it in. Sadly, the game has no dialogue between Petrus and Burhan to mark the occasion, but hopefully this has made up for that lack.


	61. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entirely fluffy chapter, because coming up next is the ghost camp, which is decidedly neither light nor humorous.

Kurt was glad to find that the embassy staff had a hot meal ready and waiting by the time they returned.

“Did you even taste it?” Vasco asked, seeing Kurt’s empty plate; they were all devouring their food, but Kurt ate fastest of anyone, another mark of the ghost camp.

_Some of the lieutenants liked to make a game of it in training. Starve us, then throw the food down and make us fight for the scraps._ Even as a boy, Kurt had been large for his age; eventually, he’d ended the game by organizing enough people to arrange an equal division of the food. _It ruined their fun, but it meant no one starved, even if we were all hungry._ Even after that, the officers in the ghost camp had often used food deprivation as a punishment, or even simply as a training tool, trying to break them so they could be rebuilt in the image Hermann wanted.

He pushed the thoughts away. “I didn’t need to. Besides, you’re one to talk!” He gestured to Vasco’s plate, which was nearly empty.

“We are all hungry and tired,” Siora said. “I will be glad to sleep.”

“We all will be, I’m sure,” said Petrus. “Though at least Captain Vasco and I were able to rest for a few hours while you were off saving Lady Aphra’s companions.” He paused. “I fear exhaustion may have loosened my tongue; please forgive me if you thought any of my remarks to Governor Burhan crossed a line.”

De Sardet shook her head. “They were fine,” she said, wearily lifting her fork to her lips. “At least, they were no more than he deserved.”

“Are you sure you want to finish that?” Vasco asked. “You look like you need sleep more than food.”

“I’ll finish my meal, then take a bath and go to bed.” De Sardet paused. “Do I truly look so terrible?”

“You look like you’re going to fall face-first into your potatoes,” Kurt said bluntly. “I’m worried that if you try to take a bath, I’m going to wake up tomorrow to find out you drowned. Are you sure you don’t want to use some resuscitation powder?”

“I’m certain,” de Sardet said, rising from the table.

“Then at least have a servant help you. I know you’re not the fine noble who needs them to do everything for you, but you’re too tired to look after yourself right now.”

“Why not wait until tomorrow for the bath?” Vasco suggested. “I know we all reek of that damned swamp, but we’ve spent days sticky and stinking, and you won’t notice when you’re asleep.”

“Between the swamp, the exertion of battle, and the dirt from the road and from creeping through that camp, we’re all filthy. It would be unkind to make the servants here have to worry about laundering those sheets,” de Sardet protested with another yawn, and Kurt almost laughed.

_She hasn’t slept in a day and a half, she’s falling asleep trying to eat supper, and she’s still thinking about inconveniencing the staff here with her dirty laundry,_ he thought. “They’re going to have to launder our clothes anyway, Green Blood,” he told her. “At least, if they can salvage them. A few dirty sheets won’t change that.”

But, thinking of what she’d said, he did run himself a hot bath, scrubbing the caked layers of dirt, sweat, swamp water, and accumulated filth from his own skin and hair, before falling face-first onto the bed, not having bothered to put on fresh clothing or even turn down the blankets. When he awoke, it was mid-afternoon the next day. It felt almost shameful to have slept for so long; his only consolation was that Siora, de Sardet, and Petrus were all still asleep. Only Vasco was awake, and he looked as if he hadn’t been up for long.

“Didn’t want to inconvenience the servants?” Vasco asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You took your bath yesterday night, like de Sardet said.” For a moment, Kurt was entirely baffled as to how Vasco had figured that out, until he patted the top of his head and realized that his hair had dried sticking up in half a dozen different directions.

_I didn’t think to run a comb through it._ He hadn’t thought to put on a hat, either. _I hope that hat isn’t ruined by the time in the swamp._ It was the tricorne that de Sardet had purchased for him on the day of their departure from Serene, and he had to admit he was fond of it. 

Vasco wasn’t wearing a hat either, and he’d forgone his usual captain’s coat for a simple linen shirt and pair of trousers. “My coats are being cleaned,” he explained. “You know, I may take de Sardet up on her offer.” Kurt looked down at his feet, and saw he was barefoot. “I may need to,” Vasco admitted. “My boots are in rough shape.”

“Don’t let Green Blood hear you say that unless you want to go boot shopping today. She’ll be dragging you out to the nearest cobbler.”

Vasco gave a rueful smile. “You know, for all I ever imagined coming ashore and finding a noble brother, I can’t help but feel I’ve found a sister instead.” He looked at Kurt, as if half-expecting him to object. “You don’t have a problem with that?”

“Why would I?”

“When we were aboard the _Sea Horse_ , I had the sense you weren’t overly fond of me.”

“Because you had your head up your arse,” Kurt replied bluntly. “But you’ve straightened things out since then.”

“Thanks to de Sardet,” Vasco acknowledged. “She was more patient with me than I had any right to expect…and she helped me understand that I wasn’t looking to become a noble, I was looking to feel comfortable in the life I have. I was angry because I thought my life had been stolen from me; I wanted to be sure that, even though I didn’t have a choice in the matter, that I was still happier with being a Naut than I would have been otherwise.”

“I think you were looking for a family,” Kurt replied. “But you found Green Blood, not that noble idiot we had to rescue from bandits.” He paused. “She could use a brother. Someone to look out for her, the way she’s always looked out for Constantin. He’s been as close as a brother to her, but he’s not the sort to put anyone else first. Half the time, I don’t even think he sees her as a separate person. You know, right before we left for Hikmet, that dinner when he asked her to stay…”

“She said she would stay behind if he asked,” Vasco remembered.

Kurt nodded. “Even though she has her duties. Even though she wanted to help you. Even though he was only asking out of selfishness.” He frowned. “Maybe it’ll do her some good to have someone else to put first for a change.”

“Or maybe she should start learning to put herself first,” Vasco suggested.

“I’ll settle for having someone else put her first to start with,” said Kurt. “No one’s done that. All her life—”

“That isn’t true,” Vasco interrupted. “She’s had you.”

“A hired mercenary? It was my job. I don’t count. Besides, I’ve always had to divide my attention between the two of them.” Kurt felt a slight pang of guilt. “I’ve been neglecting His Highness since we landed, but it’s still true. Once we get back to New Serene, I’ll have to try to find Sieglinde and talk to her about finding a personal guard for Constantin.”

The remainder of the day was spent making preparations for the return journey. Aphra was nowhere to be seen; Kurt almost hoped she’d changed her mind, but knew he wouldn’t be that lucky. _The Bridger’s probably packing her things and saying goodbye to her friends,_ Kurt thought, _though it might be too generous to think she has any friends to say goodbye to._ He was well aware of his own lack in that area.

They spent an additional two days in Hikmet; de Sardet was still the legate and had diplomatic business to attend to while in the city, and she did want to do a limited amount of shopping: specifically, purchasing enough tents so that each member of their party could have their own. “The pretty twig will thank you,” he told her. “You should hear her imitate Aphra’s snoring.”

De Sardet smiled. “When we return to New Serene, I plan on getting everyone a trunk full of new garments.”

“Georges the tailor will thank you,” said Kurt. “So will that merchant Laurent.”

She insisted on buying new boots for Kurt, Vasco, and Siora before they set out; Siora was not entirely happy with the _renaigse_ footwear, which she complained was more restrictive and uncomfortable than her usual boots, but her old boots had been too badly damaged by their time in the swamp. “When we return to New Serene, I will see if Cosnach has any boots that would fit me,” she said, referring to the hunter’s cousin who de Sardet had obtained the permit for.

A gift from Governor Burhan arrived the day before they were due to leave: an armored kaftan in de Sardet’s size, along with a matching pair of gauntlets and boots, a gesture of thanks for having rescued the scholars. She also received a gift from the scholars themselves: Celia arrived bearing a crate of books. “For you, Your Excellency,” the head of the expedition told her. “We thought that you might appreciate learning more about the island. We all agree that these are some of the best works that have been written.”

That night, de Sardet was hard at work on her diplomatic dispatches, but the others had little enough to do: their things were packed, and while Kurt had told himself he would begin work on a gaming board when they returned to New Serene, there was no workbench in the embassy in Hikmet, and no time to begin a new project in any case.

Vasco and Siora soon fell into conversation, Vasco trying to convince Siora to give him an impromptu language lesson; Siora agreed, and Vasco began to ask questions about phrases he’d heard and ways to construct sentences. _I’ve never had a tongue for languages,_ Kurt thought. Gacan was the common language of the continent, and it suited him just fine. _I wouldn’t mind speaking the natives’ tongue, but I’d need a more basic lesson than the one the sailor’s getting._ Instead, he found himself turning toward the crate of books, rummaging through it until he found one that looked likely. _Doctor Serafeddin’s_ Preliminary Notes on the Creatures of Teer Fradee _. Sounds dry, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn more about the animals we’re likely to encounter. I doubt some Bridger scholar wrote much about how to fight the damn things, but I wouldn’t mind learning more about them anyway. I wonder if he’s got any notes on how to cook them._

Opening the book, he began to read; as he suspected, the prose itself was dry, but the content itself was more interesting than he’d expected: there were comparisons between native creatures and their continental counterparts, detailed descriptions of where they lived and how they interacted with their environment, discussion of how the natives interacted with those animals: the ones they hunted, the ones that seemed to have greater significance to them, the ones that were used in rituals and rites of passage.

As he read, he noticed that Aphra was eyeing him: at first, she tried to keep her glances discreet, but the next time he looked up, he saw she was openly staring. Thinking of the way she’d reacted to de Sardet’s compliment, he thought, _I wonder what she’d do if I asked her if she liked what she saw._ He was sure Aphra wasn’t staring because she found him irresistibly handsome; Kurt knew he was anything but. _Some women might like tall men, but no one’s ever thought I was much to look at._ Even the idea of Aphra being attracted to him was laughable. _I told her I’d kill her if she pulled her gun on Green Blood again. I’m pretty sure she hates my guts._

But that didn’t explain why she insisted on looking. The next time he looked up to see her quickly averting her gaze, he decided to confront her head-on. “What is it?” Kurt asked. “You keep staring at me.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Although I confess myself surprised.”

“Why is that, exactly?” She nodded to the book in his hands, and he raised both eyebrows. “What, did you want to see the title?” He held it up, but Aphra was already speaking.

“No, I saw the title.”

“What, are you surprised that I’m reading a book about the island? I’d prefer history, or a good tale of adventure if I could find it, but your library here is sadly lacking.” He suspected Aphra would look down on the sort of stories that were his favorite, the long tales he’d discovered while still a boy on city guard duty in the Bronze Shield Regiment: stories that told of wrongful imprisonment and righteous vengeance, or of mythical heroes who fought for the most honorable causes. “This treatise is a little dry, but this scholar has made some useful observations.”

“Actually, I’m surprised you can read at all,” Aphra said bluntly. “I thought that most of the Coin Guard were illiterate.” She glanced at Vasco. “I believed the same of the Nauts, as well, though as a captain I would assume that you’re capable.”

“All Nauts can read and write, at least to some extent,” said Vasco. “We’re all taught on our island. Even a volunteer who joins late in life has to learn the basics.”

“I had thought that only Nauts of a certain rank would be taught,” Aphra replied. “But it doesn’t surprise me that you can read and write. A ship’s captain certainly has to know how to keep a log, review their quartermaster’s records, and examine the cargo manifests.”

“Whereas a Coin Guard only has to be able to fight?” Vasco asked. He looked at Kurt, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure you’re holding that the right way up?” 

Kurt took the book he was holding and turned it upside-down, then looked again at Aphra. “I don’t know,” he said; completely deadpan, he added, “I only chose it for the pictures.”

“Kurt,” de Sardet intervened, laughing.

“The recruits don’t have to know how to read and write, but all the officers are literate,” said Kurt. “Anyone who grew up in the Guard from a young enough age was taught when we went into training. I was five when I started my lessons. Learning to fight was only part of it; they taught us all how to read, write, do sums, keep accounts, and learn enough history and geography to know where we’d be expected to fight and why.” He nodded toward de Sardet. “It wasn’t exactly a _princely_ education, but it was enough.” 

“No, the princely education you got with us,” de Sardet laughed. “You can’t have watched over all our lessons with Sir de Courcillon without picking up a few things.”

“I’m sure Constantin wishes I’d learned more. He was always disappointed that I couldn’t do his homework for him.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”

“Either,” Kurt replied. “I told him I was hired to protect him, not solve math problems or summarize story-books, and that he’d have to start paying me more if he expected me to learn his lessons for him.”

“It didn’t take long before he tried to bribe you,” de Sardet laughed. “Some silver he’d fished out of his mother’s purse, a handful of candy from the kitchens, some sort of ceremonial sword he’d stolen from the palace armory…”

“I had to haul that back before anyone missed it. I was hardly going to have Constantin tell his father I was soliciting bribes.”

“You might have gotten away with the candy,” she teased him.

“Dismissed from the Coin Guard for taking candy from a baby! How would I explain that, I wonder.”

“Constantin would have been so upset if you’d called him a baby.”

“Ah, yes. He would have reminded me that he was eleven. A proper grown man.” A look of amusement played upon his lips, and de Sardet smiled back.

“You said that you liked adventure stories. You never mentioned that. Which was your favorite?”

“ _The Prince of Faircrest Isle_ ,” Kurt answered immediately.

“By Sir Charles-Alexandre Dumont,” de Sardet said. “I never knew you liked his work! I would have thought that _The Royal Guards_ would have been your favorite…or maybe the sequel, _Thirty Years Later_.”

“I’ve read them all,” Kurt acknowledged. “From _The Prisoner of the Golden Mask_ to _The Golden Crown_. But I always liked _Faircrest Isle_ the best. The Royal Guards had all that talk of politics and princes, and so did all the others. But _Faircrest Isle_ is about an ordinary man.”

“An ordinary man who gets betrayed by his best friend, but becomes utterly extraordinary,” de Sardet said. “He has his revenge, finds his lost love, and remembers his honor before he loses himself.” She couldn’t help a smile. “Constantin always found the whole thing terribly implausible, but I always loved it.”

“What sort of books did Constantin prefer?” Vasco asked.

“Constantin has never been fond of reading,” de Sardet admitted. “But he does love to see plays performed. There is one playwright in Serene who is his favorite…he writes poetry as well as plays, sonnets and such, but he is a prolific playwright. Tragedies and comedies, historical plays and oddities that seem to defy any other category – Constantin’s favorite is a tragedy,” she said, “ _The Inconstant Prince_.”

“I remember that one,” said Kurt; he had to laugh. “It opens with the prince seeing the ghost of his dead father. I think that might be why it’s his favorite.”

“What about you, de Sardet?” Vasco asked. “Is this Sir Dumont your favorite author as well?”

“I enjoyed his stories, but I’ll admit, my favorites were always Lady de Beaulieu’s. _Honor and Honesty_ , _Romance and Responsibility_ , _Love and Courtship,_ all of those.”

“Romance novels about noble society,” Aphra sniffed, with all the disdain Kurt had been sure she’d have for his own favorites.

“The characters are always so funny,” de Sardet said. “If you’d been to Court, you’d know that the characters she writes are exactly like some of the people there. From the minor functionaries to the officious lords…and some of the situations she would invent for them. Lady de Beaulieu is a pseudonym, you know; it’s thought that the real author is someone who works at the court, but there have always been rumors that it’s one member of the nobility or another.”

“I’m surprised you enjoy those,” Petrus said. “I would not have thought you fond of reading about the confines of polite society.” 

She smiled. “The dialogue is so clever, the descriptions so wry…and I have to admit, I like that the romances always turn out so happily, no matter how impossible they are. The heroines always get their heart’s desire, and things always manage to turn out well, no matter how many obstacles are set in their path.”

“I prefer my romance in poetry,” Vasco declared. “Poetry speaks to the heart.” He glanced at Aphra, and his lips twisted wryly. “Though maybe our Bridger friend would say I only like it because there are fewer words to sound out.”

“What do you like, Aphra?” de Sardet asked, and Kurt knew she was trying her best to be conciliatory.

“I prefer nonfiction,” said Aphra. “The latest treatises on botany or medicine, and any work I can find describing the latest scholarship on the island. I’m always interested in the latest advances. I’ve little time for fiction.”

“What about you, Father?” Petrus had remained quiet, though Kurt noticed now that he had a book in hand as well.

“I’m sure he prefers dry theological treatises,” said Aphra. “Or political tomes. _The Ideal Prince,_ by that exiled Congregation lord who wrote from Theleme. Or perhaps some of the philosophers of the Gacan Empire.” As she spoke, Kurt noticed that Petrus had closed his book and was trying to tuck it discreetly at his side.

Aphra noticed too, and wouldn’t let it go. “Come now, Father. What are you reading?” She didn’t wait for a response; instead, she got up from her seat, crossed the room, and attempted to pluck the book from Petrus’s hand. There was the briefest hint of a struggle as Petrus initially refused to let go, and Kurt was momentarily amused by the idea of a tussle between the petite, tenacious scholar and the tall, distinguished bishop before Petrus sighed and gave up the book.

“Next time, you should try holding it over her head,” Kurt deadpanned, while Vasco eyed them curiously.

“What are you so reluctant to show us, Father?” Vasco grinned. “Maybe it is one of those books you only look at for the pictures?”

Kurt had seen more than a few of those in camp, sketchbooks that often proposed to be treatises on the human body that ended up being more pornographic than anatomical in nature. _I can’t imagine the bishop looking at one of those,_ he thought, _let alone in mixed company._

Aphra turned it over and looked at the spine, then did a double-take. “This ought to be good,” said Vasco. “What’s our friend the bishop reading?”

“Nothing of import,” Petrus said, too quickly; while Kurt got the sense that the diplomat was a master of controlling his facial expressions, the tips of his ears were beginning to turn red.

 _Bet he wishes he had that helmet on,_ Kurt thought. For once, Petrus had eschewed his armor, instead favoring the ordinary sort of clothing worn by priests of Theleme.

“ _The Seduction of the Sea-Given_ ,” Aphra read. It took her a moment to comprehend; Kurt saw her do a double-take at the title, then re-read the spine, as if she thought she’d read it wrong. “Wait…”

Vasco started laughing. “It’s a pulp novel,” he said. “Romance, but not the fine, courtly sort with the witty dialogue that de Sardet prefers. No, that’s the sort they print in cheap bindings for ordinary folk to read, with scenes of a more…tawdry nature.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Kurt asked, amused, but Vasco had a reply ready.

“Flavia likes them. She picks them up in Serene or Lacillion, then passes them around to the rest of the crew until the ink smears or they fall to pieces.” 

“That’s not a cheap binding,” Kurt pointed out, looking at the book in Aphra’s hands; it had a stiff leather cover and wouldn’t have looked out of place on any of the library’s shelves. “That isn’t from a cheap copper-penny press.” 

“He’s right,” said Aphra, then eyed Petrus. “This isn’t like a Dumont novel, where the printers make their cheap printings on the worst paper available for the masses, then make a special run for the upper classes with a finer binding and an embossed leather cover. I’ve never heard of a novel like this being turned into a real book. Did you actually _commission_ this?” 

Petrus’s face gave nothing away, but his ears were bright red. “I would prefer not to discuss it,” he said stiffly.

De Sardet was trying to be her usual gracious self, but Kurt could see she was barely holding back laughter. “Aphra, give Father Petrus his book back,” she said.

“No, I have to read this,” Aphra insisted.

“Would you care to read it aloud?” Vasco asked.

Siora was watching them all with a look of utter bafflement. “I do not understand any of this,” she admitted. “My people do not make marks on bark the way you do.”

“Do you not have writing?” Aphra asked, momentarily distracted.

“We do, but it is a secret language used only by some…the _doneigada_ know one version, and there is another for keepers of promises. But it is not something used by all, or that we would expect everyone to know.”

“You know we use writing for far more,” de Sardet said. “We use it to tell stories…tales of things that might have happened but did not, of invented people and places and events.”

Siora nodded. “I heard you speak of Kurt’s favorite,” she said. “It sounded very exciting.” She smiled. “And I can see why you would like tales of love, set in your home, where people who are very much like you are loved and happy.” She paused. “I do not know what this ‘poetry’ is, but—”

“Instead of telling a story, you arrange words to convey feelings,” Vasco said.

“Poetry tells a story, but in a different way,” de Sardet supplied.

“The words rise and fall like the waves, and sometimes crash against each other like the sea coming into shore…while other times they flow like the tide lapping against your ship when it’s in harbor.”

“I am not sure I understand,” said Siora. “The words you just said…is that a poem?”

“Of sorts,” de Sardet said, even as Vasco started to shake his head.

“Never liked poetry myself,” said Kurt. “I’ve always preferred plain speech.”

“Aphra prefers the sort that do not tell stories, but serve to convey information about the world around us,” said de Sardet. “There are books that have drawings of medicinal plants and tell people what they are used for and how to prepare them, or books like the one that Kurt is reading now, that teach people about the animals on this island and how they differ from the ones on the continent.”

“And what of Petrus’s book?” Siora asked innocently.

Aphra grinned. “That’s a book of a very different sort,” she said. “Stories, but ones that are more…graphic…in nature.”

“I do not understand.” Siora frowned. “Would you read it?”

“You might learn some new words, pretty flower,” Kurt told her. “But not all of them would be fit for polite company.” He paused. “You remember what I told you in the swamp?” While he’d been amused by Petrus’s shock, he’d known that Siora wouldn’t want to embarrass de Sardet or herself by inadvertently swearing in the middle of the court in New Serene or in some other delicate diplomatic situation, and had explained to her why it wasn’t appropriate.

“Yes,” Siora said. She looked at the book. “So this book…it has those words?”

“More like it has descriptions of some of those words,” said Kurt. He looked over and saw that Vasco was laughing. “Why am I explaining this? I might be the only one here who hasn’t read one…aside from you, Green Blood. I wouldn’t presume,” he began haltingly, and felt his own cheeks beginning to grow hot.

“Constantin brought a few home from the streets of Serene, when we were teenagers and he’d just begun to sneak out,” she said. “Bodice-rippers, he called them. He’d bring those back to the palace, along with anything else that he thought would shock his father if he found him with them…broadsides that had descriptions of public executions, scurrilous verse making fun of his father, scandal sheets that detailed all the gossip, true and false, about what was going on in the palace.” Her eyes sparkled brightly. “I can’t say I’ve read one in many years, but I do know what they contain.”

Aphra had flipped open the book once more. “She could learn a number of new words, I think,” she said. “There are so many that I don’t think would have come up in conversation before now. ‘Turgid,’ ‘throbbing,’ ‘heaving,’ so many polite euphemisms for certain parts of the male anatomy…and for the female anatomy as well, looking at this…”

“Since you seem to have taken such an interest in my reading, would you care to borrow it?” Petrus asked archly. “You could read it to Siora, if you like.”

“And you’ll find another one? Do you have the entire collection, I wonder?” Aphra asked. “What are the other titles, pray?”

“If Flavia’s favorites are any indication, they’ll be called something like _Abducted by an Admiral_ or _Taken by the Tempest_. I think her favorite was one called _Guardian of Love_ ; she picks up a new copy any time the old one wears out.”

“ _Ravished under a Red Sun_ ,” Aphra declared, looking through the frontispiece of the book. “At least, that’s what they’re proudest of. ‘By Madame Chantal Marais, author of _Ravished Under a Red Sun_ , the new romance, _The Seduction of the Sea-Given_.’”

“Why do so many of them involve Nauts?”

“It’s the tattoos,” de Sardet teased him. “They make you mysterious and exciting.”

“Well, a fair number of those titles seem to involve being taken by pirates, abducted and transported to a new land, or meeting a Naut who also happens to be heir to a noble family or who has a treasure map to a small fortune,” said Vasco. “We used to laugh at it all.”

“From the description of this captain, it seems your uniform should be a tight pair of breeches and some leather boots, and little else,” said Aphra, reading with interest. “A shirt might be permitted, but only if it is open to the chest, and can be fashionably torn.”

“Tell me, Father, what is it you like about these novels?” Kurt asked.

“I like being able to enjoy them quietly, in the privacy of my own library,” Petrus answered tightly.

“Kurt isn’t asking to mock you,” de Sardet offered. “I would be curious as well. I must admit, I thought your tastes would be more…scholarly, as Aphra suggested.”

“I have read a great deal of philosophy and political theory, but such books grow tedious after a time,” Petrus answered. “Cheap romances like the one Aphra is holding now are absurd, I grant you that, but they are entertaining, and I have always enjoyed the ridiculous contortions that enable all their plots to come together.”

“There’s a plot?” Aphra asked, flipping through the book.

“Yes,” Petrus replied, “often too complex for its own good, with a dozen invented obstacles. Sometimes, there are complications caused only because the lovers will not hold a sensible conversation, or because an obvious villain stands in the way, throwing obstacles into their path. The absurdity is the appeal.” He looked to de Sardet, and the stiff expression that betrayed nothing softened into a genuine look of fondness. “And I will admit, there is some appeal in the convention of love conquering all and two lovers departing into the sunset, no matter how different their situations in life or their personalities.”

“So all of us are romantics at heart,” said Vasco. “Even Kurt – your favorite ends with the wronged man reuniting with his lover, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” said Kurt.

“I’m not,” Aphra said. “I’ve never understood the appeal.” She handed the book back to Petrus. “Here, Father.”

Petrus leaned back in his chair. “Keep it,” he said. “You should read it first. I insist.”

Aphra looked perturbed as he folded his arms over his chest, refusing the book, and looked even more so when Siora suggested, “Perhaps you could read it to me. I would like to learn to read your _renaigse_ writing, and maybe even make some myself.”

“I would be glad to teach you, but perhaps we should start with something else,” de Sardet suggested, smiling. “Maybe we can all help.”

“I would like that, _carants_ ,” said Siora, and the conversation moved on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone keeping score on how the companions' preferences translate to real-world authors, Constantin is a Shakespeare fan (specifically Hamlet, as previously established in Return to Serene; de Sardet's favorite is The Tempest); de Sardet enjoys Jane Austen; Kurt is a fan of Alexandre Dumas, although "Dumont's" Count of Monte Cristo equivalent apparently ends more like many of the film adaptations do in our universe; Vasco enjoys poetry (and would probably enjoy Shakespeare's sonnets, though it's not specifically mentioned); Aphra, non-fiction science treatises; and Petrus does read the Greedfall equivalent of Machiavelli as well as classical philosophers like Plato and Aristotle, but secretly loves his Harlequin-style bodice rippers. Vasco's favorite book of poetry (Love and the Sea) as well as Flavia's favorite bodice-ripper (Guardian of Love) are the titles of the Steam achievements for the Vasco and Kurt romances, respectively...but the other romance novel titles are entirely my own, and aren't meant to reference anything in particular.


	62. A Difference of Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something of a transition chapter into the ghost camp chapters. Big forewarning that will be repeated in the next few chapters: the ghost camp chapters carry explicit warnings for mention of child abuse, physical violence, and torture, as well as references to sexual abuse. There's nothing of that in this chapter, as this is more a transition into the ghost camp mission, but just a warning for what's ahead.

They returned to New Serene the following day; Constantin called them to the palace just as Governor Burhan had, by having the guards keep a watch for them at the gate. Unlike Burhan, he had only given orders that de Sardet was required to meet him, but all of her companions accompanied her nonetheless.

“My fair cousin! I am so happy to see you,” Constantin greeted her, shooing away Sir de Courcillon, Monsieur Vaillancourt, and a gathering of courtiers as she entered. “When I heard what Governor Burhan had asked of you, I was furious! To think that imbecile would send you into danger—”

“I agreed to go,” de Sardet said, “and you cannot call the governor of Hikmet an imbecile.”

“Even if he is one,” Kurt muttered, loudly enough that both de Sardet and Constantin heard.

Constantin brightened. “You see? Even Kurt agrees.”

“He didn’t say a damn thing about his own legate getting killed trying to stop the attacks,” said Kurt. “The same way he didn’t mention those venomous bat-beasts in the trees near the caravan route, or the natives being angry that the Bridgers are taking their people.” De Sardet frowned at him, but he said, “He’s right to be angry, Green Blood. If Burhan was going to put you in harm’s way, he should have told you the truth – and that’s before he sent us after those scholars.”

“Yes,” said Constantin. “I would never have allowed you to pursue those scholars, my dear cousin. I know you wished to help them, but the danger! I cannot believe Kurt allowed you to go.” He turned a glare on Kurt.

“Green Blood is a grown woman, Your Highness. What did you want me to do, tie her up and carry her back to New Serene?” Kurt asked. “If you did not want her to make her own decisions, you shouldn’t have agreed to have her as your legate.”

“You know as well as I do that I had no say in the matter!” Constantin huffed. “If I had, things would be different.”

De Sardet couldn’t help but feel stung. “If you thought that I was not capable—”

The petulance went out of Constantin’s manner at once; his eyes widened, and he hastened to reassure her, “My dear cousin, I assure you, it is not your competence I question. You are a fine legate, as your successes in Hikmet have so amply demonstrated. Warning our allies and averting an attack that would have claimed dozens of lives, ending the attacks on our merchants, saving these scholars from their native attackers…these are all great triumphs. I only wish I could claim such successes for myself! Alas, the life of a governor is rather less interesting, especially in the day-to-day matters…my wishes come only out of a concern for your safety, and out of my own selfish loneliness. If you were not legate, you could be at my side whenever I desired, and I would not have to worry that you had been murdered by a group of vengeful rebels.”

“I was never in great danger,” de Sardet said, hoping that no one would contradict her. “At least, I never felt as if I was. I had Kurt to protect me, and Siora to help avert conflict.” That hadn’t entirely helped: they had faced wild animals that had been devouring the merchants’ bodies, as well as the natives’ advance scouts who’d sought to kill them before they could reach the camp. _But Constantin does not need to know that._ “I took Kurt and Siora with me when speaking to the _doneia esgregaw_ about the merchant caravans, and again when sneaking through their camp. That is the name they give the rebels,” she explained.

“The standing men are those who have decided they wish to drive the _renaigse_ into the sea,” Siora added. “They came together from many clans, especially those who disagreed when their _mals_ chose to welcome the _renaigse_ instead of fighting. Most of the time, the _doneia_ _esgregaw_ have focused their attacks on the lions, but the red suns are now taking our people as well, and I think they will stand against them in the future.”

“We did not speak with them when we rescued the scholars,” de Sardet said. “We waited until the cover of nightfall, and snuck in, using haze potions to keep ourselves hidden.”

“You took Kurt? On a mission requiring stealth?”

“I’ve been trained in how to sneak about,” Kurt spoke up. “I don’t like it much – it doesn’t feel honorable – but I know a bit about getting in and out of a fort unseen.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You told me to protect her. I wouldn’t stay behind when she was putting herself in so much danger.”

“Danger! I loathe the very thought. When one of those secretaries at the embassy sent word to me that you had ventured into unknown lands searching for those missing scholars, I was nearly overcome with fright – and with fury at Governor Burhan for having asked such a thing of you! I do not know how you could have agreed.”

“It did not occur to me to say no,” de Sardet admitted. _I have always done what is asked of me._ Most of all, she had never refused Constantin anything. “Besides, I could not refuse when there were lives in danger.”

“All the more reason why Governor Burhan should have sent someone else! Let him risk the lives of a company of soldiers from the Coin Guard.”

She thought she caught the slightest hint of a frown on Kurt’s face, and spoke up. “Why should their lives be worth any less than ours?”

“Your sentiments do you credit, cousin, but surely you must realize the truth of the matter,” said Constantin. “A few fresh recruits are easily replaced, where you…you are irreplaceable!”

De Sardet thought of the soldier who’d interrupted her first meeting with Governor Burhan in the throne room in Hikmet, and of the way he’d stopped to thank her even after Governor Burhan had abruptly dismissed him. _How many men would have died if I’d said nothing?_ She couldn’t help but think of the _nadaig_ in the swamp. _Antidotes, health potions…if not for my stock of potions, we might all have died_. That made her think of what Kurt had told her aboard the _Sea Horse,_ on the day of the crossing celebration. _The Coin Guard does not waste its coin on ordinary soldiers. Would they have had any antidote?_ Thoughts of Kurt made her think of another fresh recruit, his body laid out in the morgue of the Coin Barracks. _Reiner was a new recruit._ She remembered Kurt’s grief, and that of the young recruits who had come to his funeral. _Reiner may not have been a high-ranking soldier or a person of any great importance in this world, but he had people who cared for him, and who would say he could not be so easily replaced._

“I’m sure those guards’ families would feel differently,” she ventured.

“They’re mercenaries, my dear cousin; they signed up to risk their lives. That’s why we pay them. Governor Burhan doesn’t employ them for the pleasure of their company, any more than you’d pay Kurt for his conversation at the dinner table.”

“I enjoy Kurt’s company,” she protested.

“Come, now. Even Kurt would admit that he isn’t exactly a brilliant conversationalist, I’m sure.” He looked expectantly to Kurt, who remained absolutely silent; de Sardet suspected that silence was entirely intentional, his response to Constantin’s comments.

Constantin noticed the silence, though de Sardet thought he interpreted it as agreement, rather than ironic commentary on his words. “While he is certainly a capable guard and an excellent fighter, he is paid to protect us, the same way any of our guards are.” He swept a careless hand toward the pair of guards manning the doors at the opposite end of the room. “We pay the Coin Guard for their services in guarding the city, protecting us…and, yes, fighting others, when there is need for it. Governor Burhan should have sent a company of soldiers to search that wretched swamp, and to fight the natives to get his scientists back, if there was need.”

“But the Coin Guard wasn’t needed,” de Sardet protested. “We rescued the scientists without bloodshed. Wasn’t that better?”

“Not if it involved you risking your life! I would rather have let a dozen guards perish along with that expedition than have you risk yourself the way you did. If you felt that the scientists’ situation was so dire that your own party had to effect a rescue, you could have sent Siora and Kurt in alone. Surely a smaller party would have been better if stealth was indeed required…and if more people were needed, Captain Vasco or Bishop Petrus could have gone in your stead. You did not need to risk yourself!”

De Sardet took a deep breath; she might privately disagree with Constantin, but she rarely spoke up, and she never pressed or argued a point. “On the contrary,” she said, “I could not ask others to risk themselves if I was not willing to do the same. How could I remain in camp while they put themselves at risk while doing a mission that Governor Burhan had entrusted to me?”

“A mission you should never have accepted in the first place. He should never have offered it!”

“But I did accept it. Those scientists needed my help. They would not have accepted that help from Siora…and I would not allow Kurt to risk his life to do my duty. Their lives mean as much to me as my own. Kurt is paid to protect us, yes, but that does not give me the right to ask something of him that I would not do myself. I do not want to imagine how I would feel if anything happened to him; after so many years together, I know you must feel the same way.” De Sardet knew that Constantin was not as fond of Kurt as she was, and that he was prone to taking out his resentment on him, as he could not do so on those of his own station.

 _He knows that Kurt is constrained by his position,_ she thought, and the realization made her uncomfortable. _He cannot take out his frustrations on Governor Burhan without causing an international incident, and while I know he occasionally vents his anger on Lady de Morange or Sir de Courcillon, he must watch himself more closely because of their rank and station._ While she knew Constantin was often quick to apologize when he overstepped, it was still a side of her cousin she did not like, and one that she was loath to admit existed in the first place. _He has not been feeling well,_ she reminded herself, _and his anger comes from a place of concern for me…but that does not excuse him._

“Kurt and Siora both risked their lives to help me,” she said. “You should be thanking them, not chiding Kurt and acting as if their lives are disposable. What would Siora’s sister do if something had happened to her? How would she feel? And to suggest sending Vasco or Bishop Petrus instead, as if their lives were worth less than mine…it is an insult to all of them, Constantin, made all the worse by the aid they have given me, and the misery they have endured while doing so.” _The humid misery of our days in that swamp, the insect bites, the smell of the water and the swamp gases, the ruined clothing…and that’s without considering the_ nadaig _._ “They risked their lives to help me, not once but many times, and they deserve your thanks.”

It was the first time she could recall ever having argued with her cousin in such a fashion; Constantin himself looked slightly shocked at her outburst, though he recovered from the tongue-lashing quickly, and with such good humor that she felt guilty for having spoken out in the first place. “You make me sound like such an ingrate!” he said. “But of course, I am. I didn’t mean to sound so heartless.”

“I didn’t—” de Sardet began, but Constantin cut her off, making a _tut-tut_ noise as he leaned forward in his seat, looking to her companions.

“My fair cousin is, of course, entirely correct. I am sorry if it seems I disregarded the aid you have given to my cousin, or if it seemed I valued your lives less than hers. She is my dearest companion and friend, and I have been half-mad with worry since I first learned that Governor Burhan entrusted her with such a dangerous task…all the more so since so many days passed without word, especially once I learned the fate that had befallen the Bridge Alliance’s own ambassador on a far less dangerous mission!”

“She is your cousin, while you are barely acquainted with most of us,” Petrus said in the smooth tones of a career diplomat. “Of course you would place a greater value on her life than our own. That is perfectly understandable.”

Constantin took it as forgiveness. “You see, cousin? They are not offended.”

De Sardet wasn’t so sure; she could see from Siora’s narrowed eyes and frown that she did not agree with Petrus. _Kurt would not say anything in any case, and Vasco might make a wry comment aloud or mutter something more genuine to Kurt or Siora, but he would not voice his true feelings loudly enough for Constantin to hear._

“It is not that I do not value their lives, but that you are more valuable to me than anyone on this earth. The thought that this Governor Burhan would send you into such danger without a moment’s hesitation, well…you do not want to know my reaction when I first heard what he had done! I fear it was not very politic. Your life is so very precious to me, cousin; I do not know what I would do without you.”

“I feel the same way about you, Constantin, and I know that you’re upset I risked myself, but…”

“Even the fear of losing you was so great that I could not bear it! I wanted to assemble a search party and lead the way into the swamp myself. All my advisors united against the idea, but if you had not reappeared when you did, I think I might have insisted. As it was, if you had not emerged within the week, I was fully prepared to send half of the Blue-Silver Regiment into that swamp!”

That only made de Sardet think of how callous Governor Burhan had been to his own guards, and of how readily Constantin would have traded the lives of every Coin Guard on Teer Fradee for her own. _I love Constantin dearly, but I hope that I would never wantonly sacrifice the lives of others, especially if I was not risking myself._

But, while she was still uncomfortable, she could not remain angry: it had been hard enough for her to call Constantin to account at all, let alone in such a public fashion, and it was harder still for her to justify her own anger. _He is my cousin. He loves me. Everything he has said has been out of concern and love. I am his only family on Teer Fradee; if anything happened to me, it would hurt him as much as it would hurt Siora if anything happened to Eseld. If I learned that Constantin had plunged into danger without me, I know I would be frantic with concern. He has every right to be upset._

So, when Constantin leaned forward eagerly, clapped his hands together, and asked, “Now, tell me what you have been up to! I hope that all of this has been worth it,” she did not continue the argument. 

Instead, she explained everything they had seen: from the native scout preparing an ambush to the caravans where merchants had been slaughtered and dragged from their wagons to the dead scholar who had been speared through the back while trying to run. “They are angry,” said de Sardet, “and upset that their people are being abducted and presumably murdered. Governor Burhan claims to know nothing about such abductions, but Siora has confirmed that her own people have suffered.”

“Perhaps they are acting without official sanction,” Constantin mused. “The Bridge Alliance permits slavery; there may be merchant-traffickers who are abducting natives to use as slaves. Or perhaps Governor Burhan is only feigning ignorance.”

“There are scientists who have spoken of wishing to experiment on natives,” Aphra spoke up reluctantly. “The marking they possess is of great interest to us, as it seems to confer resistance to both poison and disease, and the natives say that it is possible to induce the creation of such a marking through certain rituals. If the mark does indeed confer resistance against the malichor, and the creation of such a marking can be somehow induced, even passed from parent to child…”

“…then those scientists might discover a cure for the malichor, yes,” Constantin finished. “I understand the appeal….and why they might choose to abduct natives with that marking in order to study them, or perhaps in the hopes of learning the secrets of such a ritual.” He paused. “I am sorry, we have not been properly introduced.”

“This is Lady Aphra, one of the scientists we rescued,” de Sardet spoke up.

Aphra said wryly, “One of the scientists you would have been glad to let die, along with all those dozens of imaginary Coin Guards, to keep your cousin from risking her life.”

Constantin’s mouth opened slightly, and de Sardet saw an expression she recognized all too well: it was the look Constantin had always gotten at parties back in Serene when he’d belatedly realized he’d drunkenly insulted some important lord or foreign dignitary he was supposed to impress.

Before she could step in, as she had always done in Serene, Aphra replied. “It’s quite all right. You aren’t the only one who would have been glad to leave me in that swamp to die. In fact, save for your cousin, I believe all of the members of my erstwhile rescue party would have been happy to do so.”

“Some of us might not have thought so at the time, but have considered revising those opinions,” Vasco muttered under his breath in a tone low enough to escape both Aphra’s ears and Constantin’s, but loudly enough that Siora’s frown faded, and Kurt answered back.

“You do owe her for that itching cream, sailor.”

“Wouldn’t have needed the cream if we hadn’t been there for her,” Vasco retorted. De Sardet smiled as she saw him discreetly trying to scratch, and made a note to herself to make more of the cream once they returned to the legate’s house.

“You did introduce yourself by pointing a rifle at the legate’s head,” Petrus spoke up, and Constantin’s genial attitude toward Aphra vanished instantly.

“I beg your pardon?” He looked to de Sardet, all protectiveness. “My dear cousin, did she threaten you? Where was Kurt?”

“Threatening to kill me,” Aphra said dryly. “He drew his sword, and the bishop was ready to strike me with a burst of shadow if his blade had failed.”

“It was all a misunderstanding,” de Sardet said, explaining as best she could. “Fortunately, no one was harmed, and as you can see, Lady Aphra has chosen to remain with me for some time to come.”

“Some of my colleagues saw a woman the natives called the _tierna harh cadachtas_ ,” said Aphra. “She has supposedly invented a universal remedy. If her panacea can cure the malichor, it would be a breakthrough like none other!”

“But your relations with the natives are so poor that you require my cousin’s assistance,” said Constantin, frowning.

“Before I go to investigate this, I do intend to remain in New Serene for a time,” said de Sardet. “I am sure that I have paperwork to catch up on, and matters in the city to attend to. And Bishop Petrus has asked me to help look into other matters for the Mother Cardinal…rumors of a demonic cult in another village…”

“I hope you will not rush off to investigate either so soon,” said Constantin. “You’ve only just returned!” He glanced at Vasco. “And, Captain, I know that you wished to look into certain family matters while you were in Hikmet. I hope that Governor Burhan’s demands did not interfere.”

“They did not,” Vasco replied. He hesitated, and de Sardet wondered if he was reluctant to share such a private disappointment with Constantin.

“I seem to recall hearing that he might have been in trouble. He had disappeared, had he not?”

“Yes, and we learned he had gotten himself in trouble with some debt collectors. I’m indebted to your cousin for helping me rescue him; otherwise, I might have found that I had no brother left to meet.” 

“Really? What did you think of your brother? Meeting him in such circumstances must have been upsetting.”

“I had high expectations for such an encounter. I was naively hoping for some emotional reunion,” Vasco admitted. “And I found myself in front of a conceited and selfish idiot. Need I say more?”

“A conceited and selfish idiot! Well, from what I remember of Sir Bastien, it would not surprise me…but I must admit, I had thought there might be more of a similarity between you,” Constantin admitted.

“Not all brothers are alike, especially when they have led such different lives,” de Sardet offered.

“Indeed,” Vasco agreed. “At least this regrettable adventure allowed me to find out who I am!” He sighed. “Thank you for your help. You were very patient with me.”

“I feel as if I’ve done very little to deserve such thanks,” de Sardet replied. “I’m sorry that Bastien was such a disappointment.”

“As I’ve said, Bastien was a disappointment, but you were not. If I have lost Bastien as a brother but gained you as my friend, well…I’ve no regrets.”

“Lost him?” Constantin echoed. “Did he refuse to accept you?”

“I chose not to tell my brother of our relation. From what I learned of him during our brief meeting, he would not have welcomed the truth.”

“That is a shame. It speaks poorly of him, and reflects badly on the Congregation. Our foolish customs and insistence on ignoring those of lesser birth…I must say that I would never do such a thing! If I learned I had a brother who was a Naut, I would welcome him with open arms. You know I have told you that there are times I wish that I had been a donation.”

Kurt had given a soft snort of amusement at Constantin’s first sentences; now, Vasco’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I know that I would not have traded places with Bastien for the world,” he answered, “but I do not think that you would have enjoyed life as a Naut, Your Excellency.”

“I don’t know about that,” Constantin answered. “To be a captain instead of a governor, a ship of my own, the open ocean with all its freedom, a fine coat like yours…”

“The wardrobe was not a consideration,” Vasco replied. “But I did come to realize that I prefer the freedom of being a Naut to the constraints of nobility.”

“You are nobly born?” Aphra asked him. “From the Congregation?”

“Captain Vasco was born Sir Léandre d’Arcy,” Constantin supplied. “His parents are the Prince and Princess d’Arcy, a fact he only recently discovered.”

“Yet you chose not to reveal this to your brother?”

“Let us say that I thought I desired a meeting…until we actually met,” Vasco replied dryly. “I’m confident that if I had introduced myself, Bastien would not have considered me to be his brother…if I could have gotten him to take notice of me. He was quite taken with Legate de Sardet.”

“Was he?” Constantin looked interested. “Did he remember you? I would have thought that your birthmark would have made you unforgettable.”

“I’m afraid that once I introduced myself, he was rather less taken with me,” de Sardet said.

“He was an idiot,” Kurt spoke up.

That made both de Sardet and Vasco smile. “I won’t argue with that,” said Vasco. “I’m glad I don’t have to admit being related to him. It all worked out in the end; I’m sure Bastien has no desire to know he has a Naut for a brother, and I’ve no desire to be related to such a shallow fool.”

“So this encounter allowed you to sweep your regrets away,” said Constantin.

“That is true, and I’m very grateful for it,” said Vasco. “She helped me and accompanied me in a period of doubt. Thanks to her, I feel like myself. That’s a service I will not forget.”

“I am glad that something good came out of it.”

They chatted for a while longer: de Sardet asked if there had been word from Serene, and Constantin confirmed that there was not. “My mother is probably too busy plotting her next poisoning to remember my existence!” he said cheerfully, and de Sardet could not bring herself to ask after her own mother.

 _She was so very ill…I hope that Lady de Nicolet is taking care of her. I hope that the healers have found some way to relieve her pain._ That made her think of Constantin’s own indisposition. “I hope you are feeling less poorly?”

“I must admit, while you were gone, I was so worried that I could scarcely eat or sleep. Now that you are home, I am sure I will have no further difficulties!”

De Sardet promised to eat supper with him that night, although she made him promise to include the rest of her companions in the invitation; while she would have been happy to dine with her cousin alone, she suspected that leaving Aphra, Petrus, and Siora to dine together in the legate’s house would only lead to trouble.

As they went to leave, Constantin rose from his throne. “My dearest cousin,” he said, descending the steps to embrace her. “You don’t know how worried I was. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“You needn’t have worried,” she said. “I’m sorry to have caused you such concern.”

“Just don’t do anything like it again! Confronting rebel natives, sneaking into their camp…it all sounds like something I would do. Part of me wishes that I could have been at your side for such adventures…and part of me wishes that I’d never let you go at all.”

“I’m back now,” she answered, hugging him tightly. “Everything turned out well. There was nothing to worry about.”

“I’m glad my fears were groundless. I’ll see you tonight!”

“So that is the governor,” Aphra said as they left. “He is not what I had expected.”

“What did you expect?” Vasco asked.

“Someone more reserved, with a greater sense of diplomacy and tact…someone more like de Sardet,” Aphra admitted.

“Constantin and I have always been together, but we have never been alike,” de Sardet admitted.

“You do not even look alike,” Aphra agreed. “I wouldn’t think you were related.”

“Constantin takes after his father, my mother’s brother, where I am the image of my late father,” de Sardet replied, thinking of the portraits she’d seen. A thought occurred to her. “Father Petrus, I know that you were in Serene when I was very young, but I do not remember if you said you arrived before my birth. Did you meet my father?”

“I’m afraid not,” Petrus replied. “I did arrive in Serene before you were born, but your father was away on an expedition. From what I understand, he was something of an explorer, and spent a great deal of time away from the city, at sea.”

“My mother said that was one of her greatest regrets…that his duty to the Congregation, and his devotion to my uncle’s wishes, meant that he spent so much time away from her.” De Sardet sighed. “I wish I had known him. My mother loved him deeply, and she named me for him.”

“So you bear his name and his face,” Aphra observed.

“I have always wondered if we are truly alike,” said de Sardet. “My mother spoke of him sometimes, but it pained her to do so, and he spent so much time away that there are few noblemen who knew him well. Those who did said that he was closest to my uncle, but I could not ask him.”

“Why not?”

Petrus answered for her. “Child, do you not know who her uncle is? Lady de Sardet’s uncle is the Prince d’Orsay, His Serene Highness of the Congregation of Merchants. The man is supposedly the most fearsome ruler on Gacane, more intimidating than the sultan of the Bridge Alliance or Her Supreme Holiness of my own nation.”

“I know who the Prince d’Orsay is,” Aphra replied, “and of course, I know he is Governor d’Orsay’s father, and Legate de Sardet’s uncle. I’d thought that he might not be so intimidating to a family member.”

De Sardet smiled. “I’m afraid not.” She paused. “Please allow me to apologize for some of my cousin’s remarks. Constantin would have been more charming if he had not been so concerned for my safety.”

“It’s quite all right,” Aphra replied. “I’m only glad he wasn’t angrier. When the bishop told him of the nature of our first meeting, I expected him to haul me off to jail.”

“I did not like what he said,” Siora offered.

“I’m sorry—”

“It is not your place to apologize for him, _carants_. But he thinks of himself first, and not of others.” She frowned. “When _Matir_ went to war, she fought with her warriors. She would not have sent them and kept herself safe. You were the same.”

“Constantin would not hesitate to risk his own life. It’s mine that he was concerned about.”

“He did not show respect to his warriors. The lion _mal_ was the same.”

“That’s true of most nobles,” Kurt spoke up. “They don’t care about the people who risk their lives for them. They see it the way Constantin does: they pay us for our lives, and they can use them in whatever way they see fit. If they want to throw them away, that’s their prerogative; we’ve been bought and paid for, and our lives are cheap.”

“You cannot agree!”

“I don’t,” said Kurt. “But that doesn’t matter, because the world works as he says. I signed my contract, and my life belongs to my commanders, to use as they see fit.”

“Constantin would never risk your life unnecessarily, or throw any soldier’s life away,” de Sardet protested.

“If it was to save you? It’s as he says. He wouldn’t hesitate to trade a hundred lives for yours, Green Blood.”

“But would he give his own?” Siora asked.

“I would give my life for Constantin’s, and I am sure he would do the same for me,” de Sardet said. “He has often said that he believes I am the only family he has…at least, the only family who loves him. I’ve told him again and again that it isn’t true; my mother loved us both, and I am sure his father cares for him, even if he does not show it well. But Constantin will not listen.”

“You are _on ol menawi_ , _carants_ ,” said Siora. “You know what it is to give, and you give without taking, without expecting to receive anything in return. I do not know that Constantin understands this.”

The conversation died as they reached the legate’s house; Aphra went upstairs to unpack her trunks, Petrus spoke of wanting to wash up before supper, and Vasco wanted to head down to the docks to see if the _Sea Horse_ was in port, offering to take Siora with him, as she had expressed a desire to see the ship during the return journey from Hikmet. Kurt said that he wanted to spend some time repairing his armor; a spaulder had become slightly dented during a fight with some animals during the return journey, and she knew that he was meticulous about keeping his gear well-maintained.

“I’m sure that one of the ministers from the palace will have left me some correspondence to look through, or some paperwork to attend to,” she said, but when she went to go sit down in her study, she found she could not concentrate; her thoughts kept drifting back to what Constantin had said, and the way that Kurt had looked.

 _I cannot have him think I agree. I wish I could get Constantin to apologize._ She knew he would not; he didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong. _I hope my own apology will be enough._ De Sardet found him at his workbench, wearing a pair of thick blacksmith’s gloves while hammering out the dent.

“Kurt,” she said uncertainly. “What Constantin said to you today…”

“It is the truth,” he said, setting aside his hammer so he could hold up the armor, examining the repair. As he set it down, he said, “The Coin Guard is a mercenary company, and I’m a soldier, trained to fight. Your uncle did hire me to protect you. He’s right; no one would pay for the pleasure of my company.”

“I would,” she said, and then felt her cheeks burning as she realized how that sounded. “I’m sorry. I did not intend…” De Sardet faltered; she prided herself on her ability to speak, but found herself tripping over her own tongue in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is that I like spending time with you, and I hope you feel the same way…that even if you were not the captain of Constantin’s guard, that you would still want to spend time with me, even if you were not paid to do so.”

She managed to lift her eyes to Kurt’s face, and saw that he looked both amused and touched. “I’m always glad to spend time with you, Green Blood…and that has nothing to do with my contract.”

“I’m not used to having friends,” she admitted. “In Serene, anyone who wanted to be close to me never wanted to do so because they were interested in me; it was always that they wanted something from my uncle, or from Constantin, or hoped to gain some political connection or advantage. Even now, Father Petrus is with me because I am the legate, Aphra wants to learn about this universal remedy, and you and Vasco have both been ordered to be here.”

“I may have my orders, but I hope you know that I’d gladly be here even if I didn’t. There are some orders a man doesn’t mind obeying. Not to slight your cousin, but this posting’s a fair sight better than it would have been if I felt obliged to spend all my time with him.” Kurt picked up a cloth and began to polish the repaired armor.

“I’m sorry for what he said.”

“You don’t have to apologize for him. I know you don’t share his opinions.” He shrugged. “Besides, he’s right, Green Blood. Your life is worth more than mine.”

“Not to me,” she said. “Constantin spoke as if the lives of common soldiers meant nothing, but that isn’t true.” She paused. “It made me think of Reiner. I know how much he meant to you, and to his own family. His life was not worthless.” De Sardet saw the pain on Kurt’s face. “I’m sorry to raise the subject, but—”

“It’s all right. I can’t say I wasn’t thinking of him as well.” He paused. “It’s that sort of talk that gives Torsten so much influence. He says that to nobles like your cousin, Governor Burhan, or the Mother Cardinal, our lives don’t matter. No one else cares for us; the Guard cares for the Guard, but that’s all. That’s why there were so many recruits who were so eager to believe what Egon’s men said of you. Your actions in the arena proved them wrong, but how many nobles do you think would have done the same?”

“Constantin would have,” she said. “He would have fought alongside the hunter.”

“For the glory,” Kurt said. “Because he’d want to play the hero. Not because he felt a kinship with the hunter who was protecting his cousin, or because he was outraged at the idea of letting an innocent man fight for his life on his own.”

De Sardet paused, looking at Kurt in surprise; she had indeed felt sympathy for the hunter who’d been defending his cousin, but she hadn’t told anyone. _He was only in trouble because he was standing up for his cousin._

“Don’t look so surprised, Green Blood. After such a long time together, I know you both…though I must admit you still manage to surprise me.” A smile touched his lips. “I’ve heard you rebuke Constantin now and again, when he says something you know will get him in trouble, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you argue with him like that.”

“I could not let him think I agreed…or that what he said was right. It wasn’t as if you could stop me.”

“What he said to you was wrong, too. About wishing you weren’t the legate. It was selfish of him. You’re doing a damn fine job.”

“He is right, though. When we snuck into that camp to rescue the scholars, I did not consider the danger…at least, not to you and Siora. I should have asked if you wanted to stay behind.”

“And let you go in there alone? You shouldn’t have to ask. You can’t think I’m that great a coward.”

“Never. You are the bravest man I know,” she said, and meant it. “It’s only…what Constantin said about us ordering you around, about forcing you to risk your life…I do not want to be the sort of person who would do such a thing.”

“You aren’t. You’d never ask me to do something you wouldn’t do yourself. Every time I’ve put my own life at risk, you’ve been fighting at my side.” Kurt set aside his armor, focusing all his attention on her. “Soldiers have to trust their commanding officer. They have to believe they’re respected…that they’re not going to be treated like some nameless, faceless grunt whose life doesn’t mean a damn thing to their superiors. If you’re going into battle under someone, you have to believe that they won’t throw your life away without a reason, or give orders that don’t make sense, or expect you to obey an order that’s unlawful or immoral, one that would dishonor you to obey. I know you’d never do any of that.” His voice softened, and he met her gaze and held it. “I trust you, Green Blood. With my honor, and with my life.”

“As I trust you,” she murmured.

That night, she apologized to the rest of her companions for Constantin’s comments. “He should not have spoken as he did.”

“His words came from a place of concern,” Petrus said. “Although I would hope that you realize his tendency to speak without thinking may cause difficulties for him. The Mother Cardinal would not hesitate to exploit such a weakness.”

“I know what you are going to ask me to do, but I do not wish to pursue it at this time,” de Sardet replied. “Constantin can take care of himself.”

Siora frowned, and de Sardet knew she was still angry. “Please do not judge him on this, Siora.” She paused. “How are you, Vasco?”

“Homesick, but without regrets.” Vasco sighed. “The _Sea Horse_ was not in port. It has departed for San Matheus on a cargo run. I had hoped to introduce Siora to my crew, and ask Ruben if he would let us aboard.”

“Have you spoken with your admiral? If you assured her that you are certain in your identity as a Naut—”

“I have told her as much,” Vasco replied. “She said that while she was glad, she wanted me to remain ashore. Said that she thought some more time on land would do me good.” He sighed. “I think that my quest has given her reason to question my loyalties. She may be glad that I have decided I am a Naut, but the fact that I questioned it in the first place will make her unsure of me…as will the fact that I have done so much to learn about my birth family. Most Nauts never know their birth name or where they came from, let alone attempt to meet a member of their family.”

“Did you tell her you’ve no desire to be Lord Léandre?” Kurt asked. “I’d think that hearing the name would be enough to make her understand why.”

“I’ve told her that I’ve learned enough about my birth family to make me decide I’m content with being Captain Vasco of the Nauts,” Vasco answered, “and that I would rather be captain of my own ship than a prince of the Congregation. But it did nothing to change her mind.”

“I hope that it won’t be a terrible punishment for you,” de Sardet said. “I will be happy to have you here for as long as you wish…or, in this case, as long as the admiral wishes.”

“It isn’t a punishment, de Sardet…at least, being in your service isn’t. If I’m to be scullied, better here than anywhere else. You’ve been a fine friend to me; before I return to the sea, I hope to return the favor.”

“Maybe that is why your admiral has kept you here,” Siora suggested. “She knows that Alexandra has helped you, and wants you to help her in return. She does not want there to be any imbalance.”

“I’m not sure,” said Vasco. “She did ask me how things were going. I think she was disappointed that I hadn’t been able to offer more assistance, so you may have something there.”

“I doubt you will be able to do much in the near future,” Petrus offered.

“We have never argued. Constantin and I have rarely disagreed.”

“That seems unlikely,” Vasco said. “You’re not much alike.”

“There is a difference between not agreeing and not standing up to someone,” Siora observed. “I think that you have often disagreed with him, _carants_ , but you have not often said so.”

“There’s truth in that, pretty twig,” said Kurt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them argue like that.”

“You call that an argument?” Vasco asked.

“A difference of opinion, perhaps?” Petrus offered.

“Constantin has always said we’re exactly alike,” said de Sardet.

“Because you are, or because you’ve never openly disagreed with him?” Aphra asked.

The Bridge Alliance scientist’s words cut to the point. _Until now, I have had little reason to disagree with Constantin,_ de Sardet realized. _Constantin can be thoughtless or unkind, but in the past, when he did so, it was never to someone I cared about. If he was thoughtless at a party or some state occasion, it was my duty to smooth things over as best I could; if he was unkind to a lord he despised, or to a lady who had insulted me, then I might reprimand him for it, but I usually paid it no mind._ If Constantin insulted Isabelle de Renaud, her childhood nemesis, she had applauded him; if he insulted Atherton d’Ailes or Loic de Vere, noblemen he disliked, then she had largely ignored both the insults and their aftermath. _But now, his unkindness is falling upon my friends,_ she thought. _Now, I have friends._ The thought startled her: in Serene, Constantin had been her only friend. _There was never anyone else I could trust. Mother, Kurt, perhaps Sir de Courcillon…but Mother was family, Kurt my master-at-arms, Sir de Courcillon my tutor. Constantin was my only true friend._

Here, she had Vasco, Siora, and Kurt, and Petrus certainly acted like her friend, even if she wasn’t sure she could trust him yet. _He has been friendly and helpful…but why? He reminds me of the courtiers back home, and the way he speaks of engaging in political machinations and plots, or of blackmailing the Mother Cardinal without any qualms about doing so…I hope that he will prove a friend, I would like to trust him, but I cannot help but wonder if he has some hidden agenda._ She shook off the thought. _Petrus has been a friend. He suffered through the swamp, just as we all did, and it seems he still intends to follow me._ De Sardet would not help him gather blackmail material on the Mother Cardinal, but she would not treat him coldly, either. _Nor will I allow Constantin to insult him, or to act as if risking his life is more acceptable than risking mine. That is true for any of my companions. Aphra may not be my friend, but she was willing to risk her own life to help save her fellow scientists; her life is not worth less than mine, and I cannot allow Constantin to imply that it is._

“I hope that I made it clear that I do not agree with what Constantin said,” she said, shaking herself from her thoughts. “I would not have left you or your colleagues, Aphra, and I would not have sent any of you in my place, especially as I was the one who agreed to help. I would not ask you to risk your own lives for me, and if there is ever anything you do not wish to do, please, tell me.” She looked first to Vasco, then to Kurt. “Even if you have been ordered to help me, I would not have you do anything that you do not want to do.”

“I wish you’d said that before we trudged through that blasted swamp,” Vasco said good-naturedly, flashing a white-toothed grin. “I might have decided to wait on dry land.”

“The one time in your life you didn’t want to be near the water?” Kurt asked.

“How are your bites, Vasco?” Siora asked.

“Healing. Why, don’t yours still itch?”

“I am _on ol menawi_ ,” Siora answered. “We recover more quickly. See?” She extended an arm, showing entirely clear skin.

“What about you, de Sardet?” Aphra asked.

“Like Siora, I was not bitten as badly to begin with,” de Sardet replied. “I have also recovered.”

“Where the rest of us are not so lucky. Interesting.”

“You call it interesting, I call it irritating,” Vasco said. “I hope you have some more of that cream.”

“I do,” said Aphra. “I’ve made enough for everyone.”

De Sardet wondered if it was Aphra’s attempt at a peace offering. _After putting her gun in my face, insulting my appearance, suggesting Kurt and Vasco were illiterate, and embarrassing Petrus, she may want to make amends._ Despite the scholar’s lack of tact, de Sardet thought that Aphra was more socially awkward than intentionally hostile. _Though the rifle might have suggested otherwise._

She arranged for her own gifts the following day: her first stop was to see Georges the tailor, where she placed a very large order of fine linen. _Clothing to replace any that Kurt might have ruined in the swamp, the same for Vasco, and some for Siora._ De Sardet hesitated to do the same for Petrus. _I cannot ask Marie to look through his drawers; he might think I had asked her to engage in espionage, rather than seeking his measurements…and I do not know that we are close enough that I could buy him undergarments without it provoking comment, or embarrassing us both._ She thought of the bishop’s embarrassment in the library, though she couldn’t help but smile as she remembered it. _I would not humiliate him further._ Instead, she satisfied herself by placing an order for embroidered doublets for each of her companions. _That way, Siora will have something to wear if she needs to clean her usual clothing, Petrus will not feel obliged to wear his armor, and they will all have something to change into if they tire of wearing a uniform._

At Laurent’s merchant stall, she found a replacement coat for Vasco, and was happy to see that he had a new shipment of boots in. “Fresh from the continent, Your Excellency, in all sizes.” De Sardet was pleased to find pairs to fit Vasco, Kurt, and Siora, as well as one for herself; in addition to the sturdier pairs meant for combat and hiking through the wilderness, she purchased each of them a finer pair meant for Court use. _I wonder what Siora would do if I bought her a dress._ The thought made her laugh. _Of the pair, would Siora or Aphra be most uncomfortable in a formal Court dress?_ She also selected new gauntlets for each of them; Petrus’s armor was a matched set, and finer than anything the merchant had, but she found gloves for each of the others, even Aphra. _I hope they will appreciate the gifts._

Her final selection was a brand-new sword, a two-hander worthy of replacing the rusted _zweihander_ that Kurt had carried for as long as she could remember. _Something extra, just for him,_ she thought. _Perhaps that will make up for Constantin’s words._ She wondered if she could convince Constantin to present it to Kurt as a gift, but doubted it. _Even if Constantin agrees, Kurt might take it wrong…as a patronizing piece of charity, not a present._

 _Lords don’t give gifts to their servants,_ she thought. _My uncle would never give a present to his valet, or think of gifting a new sword to the captain of his guard._ She knew Constantin would never think of doing it for Kurt. _But he will take a gift from me…because friends can exchange gifts freely._

The thought discomfited her at the same time it made her feel better: the latter, because she was glad that she could call Kurt a friend, and the former, because she knew that Constantin would not. _I never thought there were any differences between us. I always thought we were of one mind._

All her discomfiture vanished when she presented her friends with their new gifts that night. “The clothing will likely take some time to finish,” she said, “and there is a cobbler who will custom-make boots for each of you that will take even longer, but I thought that you would appreciate the new ready-made boots and gloves now…as well as the coat for you, Vasco, and a change of clothes for Siora, even if it is only a linen tunic and pair of trousers that will not fit quite as well as the tailored garments.”

“It’ll give you something to change into if you get drenched again, pretty flower,” Kurt told Siora; of all the companions, she was the only one who looked less than enthused with her gift.

“I know that you won’t want to wear _renaigse_ clothing most of the time, but Kurt is right. If you’d prefer, I can speak with Cosnach about obtaining some native clothing.”

“You do not need to do that. Thank you, _carants_.”

Aphra seemed pleased with her own gifts: she was rather nonplussed at the fashionable hat de Sardet had purchased, but the alchemy ingredients and ammunition were both much better-received. “These ingredients are precisely what I needed to replenish my stock of haze potions. Thank you, de Sardet.”

But she was happiest to see Kurt’s reaction when she brought out the sword. “I hope this is to your liking,” she said. “I know that I’m no expert in two-handed weapons, but the balance feels better, and the steel is good quality.”

Kurt’s face lit up when he took the weapon in his hands. She saw him hold it, testing the balance, then gripped the handle and held it up. “It’s perfect, Green Blood. A better weapon than I’ve ever had. Do I want to know how much it cost you?”

“Don’t even ask.”

His brow furrowed, and she waved him off. “Laurent gave me a very good discount. And I’ll charge it to the palace armory, if it will make you feel better, but I hope you’ll accept it.”

“You can’t turn it down,” said Vasco. “If you do, I’ll feel obliged to return this coat.” He patted down his front, clearly pleased with the fit. “I don’t think I’ll forgive you if you do. I like this coat.”

“It would be an insult to refuse a gift,” Petrus said sternly. He was busy admiring his own boots; while de Sardet knew he would not wear them in the field, as his armor provided better protection, they were entirely suitable for wearing inside New Serene. “Lady de Sardet has been very thoughtful.”

“That she has,” Kurt agreed. “Thank you, Green Blood. I wish I could get you something in return.”

“Your friendship is gift enough,” she answered, and meant it. “That’s true for all of you. Before I came to Teer Fradee, Constantin was my only friend, but here…here, you have come to mean so much more. I only wish there was more I could do.”

“You are always willing to give,” Siora reassured her. “You are _on ol menawi_. But you need to learn to take, as well.” She gave her a fond look. “Most need to learn the opposite lesson…especially _renaigse_. But you are different, _carants_. It is why you are my _carants_.” 


	63. Memories and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt gets a tip on the ghost camp. Warnings for mentions of torture, suicide, and physical/sexual abuse.

Kurt had expected to remain in New Serene for several weeks. _Green Blood won’t want to leave the city so soon after having returned, and her cousin won’t want to let her go._ He fully expected that most of Alexandra de Sardet’s evenings would be tied up in dinners with her cousin, while her days would be spent at the palace, helping him govern.

_The only good thing about that is that it might give me time to find someone I can trust to watch over him,_ he thought. _Maybe I’ll be able to talk to Sieglinde about who she thinks might be a suitable lieutenant to serve as a personal bodyguard to His Highness._

But, as it turned out, they were only in New Serene for a few days before chance intervened. He’d just finished a conversation with Manfred in the barracks about a number of administrative issues: he’d arranged for a delivery of supplies for the palace guards, returned his old _zweihander_ and patched shirts so they could be used by a new recruit, and questioned Manfred at length about whether or not he’d had any shipments of weapons go missing. Manfred had reassured him that there hadn’t been any further irregularities, either in the duty rosters or in the inventories, but Kurt still felt uneasy.

“Let me know if anything changes,” he told Manfred.

He was turning to go when he heard a young man’s voice calling his name. “Captain Kurt!”

Kurt recognized the recruit immediately. _It’s one of Reiner’s friends,_ he thought, remembering the skinny, dark-haired boy who’d helped lower his casket into the ground. “Anton, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir!”

Kurt could tell that the boy was nervous. “Come with me, recruit.”

“I wanted to send word to you, but I don’t know how to write,” Anton confessed as they began to walk out of the barracks.

“What about your friend? Erich?”

“He’s out on patrol, in the wilderness. I haven’t seen him in two weeks; I don’t know when his squadron will return.”

“I thought you were all in the same squadron.”

“We were.” Anton gulped. “But…we might have talked too much. What they did to Emil…” 

Kurt looked around, suddenly feeling very nervous; they were standing just outside the barracks in broad daylight, but a shiver ran down his spine. “That’s enough for now,” he said. “Wait until we’re somewhere safe.”

“I don’t think there’s anywhere in the city that is safe, sir.”

Kurt walked him down the alleyway that connected Barracks Street to the Silver District; as he did, he talked a little too loudly, for the benefit of anyone who might have been listening in. “You want a transfer, recruit? The palace guard?”

“I—” Anton looked utterly confused, but Kurt kept talking, hurrying him along.

“I know that there are plenty of recruits from the Eleventh who see it as an easy posting. Better than staying in the wilderness for weeks on end. But if you do transfer in, I won’t make it easy on you, I promise you that.” They reached Orsay Square; instead of going to the palace, Kurt steered him toward the legate’s house.

Even once they were inside, Kurt looked around, wondering where the servants were. _I don’t think any of them would talk, but I don’t trust them, either._ The butler was gone, and de Sardet had not yet hired a new one, but that left the cook and de Sardet’s personal maid. _Robert should be in the kitchen, and Marie is usually upstairs at this time of day._ He steered Anton into de Sardet’s study, hoping that she would forgive him. _The door locks, and we’ll have more privacy than we would in either of the parlors or the dining room._ “Now we can talk,” he told him. “No one will be listening here.”

“Oh,” Anton said, comprehension dawning.

“Now, tell me what’s happened.”

“After Reiner’s death, we all went back to the Eleventh, and things went on as usual. But Erich told us to keep our ears open, try to listen for rumors, ask around where we could. He said we’d gather all the information and write you when we knew something. We all wanted the truth.”

“But Emil…he was never good at being quiet. Watch your mouth, Erich told us, don’t say too much, you don’t know who’s a friend and who’s an enemy. Emil wasn’t so good with that. He asked questions a little too openly, and got himself into trouble. There was a Lieutenant Olga who heard he was asking around, talking about Reiner and phantoms and disappearing soldiers. She sat him down, asked what he was trying to do. He said too much – told her he’d lost a friend who he’d heard was in the regiment, wanted to find out more about how he’d died.”

“She told him that there was nothing more to it, that he’d drowned in the harbor from having one too many, that the phantom regiment was a lie. He said he didn’t believe her, and she ordered him to drop it. He said he would, and we thought that would be that.”

“But it wasn’t,” Kurt said. He didn’t know much of Lieutenant Olga, but what he did know wasn’t good. _I saw her training troops in the barracks. She seemed strict – cruel, even. Everything I hate in an instructor._ He’d wondered if Sieglinde knew, and had told himself he would talk to her as soon as he could. _I can’t imagine Sieglinde knows. That’s not how she treats her recruits._

“No, sir, it wasn’t,” Anton agreed. He rubbed nervously at his chin with one hand. “A few days later, he and Lukas got jumped coming out of the Coin Tavern. They both got beaten bloody, and Lukas said they told them both to keep their mouths shut and stop poking their noses where they didn’t belong.” Anton grimaced. “Emil’s always been stupid. Never knew when to stop. He told them he didn’t care what they did to him, he wasn’t going to give up, he’d never stop looking.” Kurt’s heart sank, even before Anton said, “They put his eye out. Just the one, but…” He grimaced. “Lukas said the way he screamed…”

“Lukas and Emil are both still in the infirmary. They busted them up pretty bad; they’ve both got broken bones. Gerhard is scared enough that he’s talking about putting in for a transfer back to the continent; he says he’ll fight anyone, anywhere, if he doesn’t have to stay here. Irma’s been keeping her head down; she said Reiner’s already dead, and finding out the truth isn’t worth getting killed over. She’s off in the wilderness now, out on patrol. But Erich and I are still doing what we can to find out.”

“Did you find anything?”

Anton nodded. “We’ve heard rumors. Before…before the attack, Emil had heard that there was a training camp where they all get sent. He heard that there was a lieutenant in our company who knew more…who might have seen something on patrol one day. I told Erich, and we were trying to figure out who she was, so we could ask her.”

“Did you get a name?”

“I didn’t, but Erich did. I don’t know how he found out; asked around, I guess. He’s always been good at making friends. He gave me her name. Hannelore, he said. We were going to make plans to talk to her together.” Anton fidgeted, playing with the fabric of his blue and silver doublet, a nervous gesture that suggested he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. “But then, orders came down. They split us up. Erich and Irma are still in the Eleventh, but Gerhard and I were reassigned to the Eighth, and Lukas and Emil were going to be moved to the Sixth before that attack. I’m a city guard now.”

“That’s all right,” said Kurt. “I’m just glad it wasn’t worse. I didn’t want any of you ending up in the harbor.”

“That’s where I patrol now, down by the Port Quarter. I’m still scared someone’s going to find me there one morning…just cut my throat and throw me in the harbor. I can’t swim.”

Kurt didn’t bother pointing out that if his throat was slit, not being able to swim would be the least of his worries. _Not to mention that the Nauts have harbor guards of their own. The sailor doesn’t think much of the warehouse guards, but I think they’d notice a man being thrown off a pier._

“Reiner didn’t drown,” he said aloud. “His body was dumped there, but they killed him somewhere else.”

“So what if they do that? They could drag me down some dark alleyway and beat me to death. Or just do it in front of the tavern, the way they did Emil and Lukas.” Anton twisted the fabric between his fingers, clenching it so hard Kurt thought he might rip it in half. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’ve done enough,” Kurt told him. “I’ll take it from here. I’ll talk to this Hannelore, and once I’ve found the camp, I’ll look into it. From here on out, all you need to do is keep your head down, do your duty, and let anyone who’s watching think that you’ve been scared into silence.”

Anton nodded gratefully. “Erich says that we need to do more,” he said. “But I’ve been so scared—”

“It’s all right,” Kurt told him. “Tell Erich to let things be for a while. You’re not going to do me any good if you put the bastards responsible for this camp on alert. I’ll investigate, and when I find this camp, I’ll let the major and the commander know. They’ll shut it down.”

“I hope so…but how do you know they’re not in on it, sir?”

“I know Sieglinde,” Kurt replied. “She’d never stand for this.” _Even Torsten…the camp on the continent shut down not long after he visited. I have to believe he had something to do with that. I cannot believe that a commander of the Coin Guard would countenance any camp or regiment where recruits end up beaten to death._ Guilt tugged at him again, and he found himself thinking of Reiner’s family. _It’ll be months before they learn he’s dead. I hope by then, I’ll be able to grant him a measure of justice._ “I’ll take it from here, recruit. Keep your head down and don’t let them know you know anything.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Kurt walked him out of the house and across Orsay Square, loudly telling him that he’d consider his transfer request but doubted that he had what it took to be a palace guard. _I’d like to think the men I have guarding the palace steps are trustworthy, but I don’t know enough about anyone here to be sure._

He returned to the house just as de Sardet was entering, speaking with Petrus; she had spent the morning at the vacant house reserved for Theleme’s embassy. “You are right,” she was saying. “The house does require a great deal of work. In the meantime, I’m sure that Constantin will be more than happy to offer rooms at the palace to any of your diplomats.” She gave a rueful smile. “While I would be happy to offer them accommodations here, I do not think the house is large enough.”

“I would not ask it of you, my child. Nor do I suspect that it would please certain members of the clergy who are likely to be appointed to the delegation,” Petrus replied. “Mother Lucretia is known for her love of luxury, and is likely to require a full suite in the palace for herself if she is to refrain from complaining; even Father Stephen, who has served as my personal secretary for some time, will prefer the palace, I am sure.”

De Sardet caught sight of Kurt. She seemed to realize from looking at him that he had something to tell her; she turned to Petrus immediately and said, “If you’ll excuse me, Father…”

“But of course.”

Kurt told her everything. “I need to talk to this Hannelore,” he said.

“Would you like me to come with you?”

Kurt considered it. On one hand, there was the old saying: _Guard business is well-guarded, and concerns only the Guard._ If de Sardet was there, it might be harder to get Hannelore to talk. _Or it could be easier. There are some who might be convinced by a legate._ In the end, he made the decision because he wanted de Sardet at his side. _I need someone to watch my back, and there’s no one I trust more._ “I’d like that.”

“Do you want to go now?”

Kurt nodded. “But let me tell you what’s happened before we go.”

He explained everything Anton had told him; de Sardet listened, her expression growing more and more concerned. “Those poor recruits,” she said when Kurt told her about Emil and Lukas. “We have to put an end to this.”

“I won’t argue with that. Let’s go.” 

They found Hannelore in the upper floors of the barracks, lecturing a pair of recruits. “Keep your drinking to the tavern. If I find you drunk on duty, you’ll be spending your leave time scrubbing these floors with a toothbrush.”

“Keeping the recruits in line?” Kurt asked.

De Sardet followed up with her own question immediately. “Are you Lieutenant Hannelore?”

“I am,” said Hannelore. Her gaze fell upon de Sardet’s doublet, then her birthmark. “You’re the legate.”

“Yes. I am Legate de Sardet, and this is Captain Kurt, captain of the palace guard.”

“What could you want with me? I’m not important enough to warrant your attention. Maybe you’re looking for Major Sieglinde. She’s not in town yet, though I heard she’ll be back in a day or two. The commander’s not here, though; he went to San Matheus.”

“Are they avoiding one another?” de Sardet asked.

“The commander and the major? Why would you ask me? I’m not important enough. Whatever problems Commander Torsten and Major Sieglinde have with one another, it’s none of my business.”

“So they do have problems,” de Sardet mused.

 _Sieglinde’s never liked Torsten._ Kurt remembered the letters she’d sent him from Teer Fradee when she’d first taken the posting. _She said he’s everything that’s wrong with the Guard._ But Kurt had never been able to bring himself to believe that. _If Torsten is corrupt, what does that say about the rest of us?_

“I don’t care about them,” Kurt said. “I’m not here to ask about our higher-ups. I’ve heard you know more about the phantom regiment…to be specific, the place where that regiment is trained.”

Hannelore’s reaction was immediate: she paled, taking a step back. “Sir…no, I can’t. I don’t know anything.”

“You help train new recruits. Do you identify the most promising? Do you have any part in arranging who gets sent to this ghost camp?” Kurt’s mouth went dry as he pronounced the words.

Hannelore was too caught up in her own terror to notice his own. “I don’t, I swear it! I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“A recruit was killed at that camp, Lieutenant,” said Kurt. “Reiner. Someone tried to cover it up. I’m going to find out who…but to do that, I need to find out where this camp is so we can go investigate.”

“I can’t. I can’t,” Hannelore said again. “I swore I wouldn’t say a thing.”

“Come now, Lieutenant, I’m certain you’ve grown close to those youths you’ve been training,” said de Sardet. “Does it not shock you that one of your own might kill a recruit and attempt to cover it up? Let’s have a talk. We only want to help Reiner find justice.”

“And what is he to you?”

“Reiner was one of my recruits,” Kurt spoke up. “I recruited the boy, personally. You know how it is. And now he’s dead. If there’s anything you can tell us…”

“I don’t really know much about this affair. I’ve just heard people talking, and I know that it’s…frowned upon to broach the subject, especially with people on the outside.”

“What happens in the Guard concerns only the Guard…I know that, but I’m not sure myself!” said Kurt.

“Is that right?” The lieutenant bit her lip, making her look younger. “All I can tell you is that Reiner isn’t the first to vanish from his company. Other youths, the most promising among us, are regularly reassigned. I don’t know where they’ve gone, nor what they do…but we never see them again.”

“But you have heard rumors of where they go,” de Sardet prodded gently. “You’ve heard they’re reassigned to a training camp.”

“The phantom regiment,” Kurt said, and the lieutenant blanched. “You’ve heard rumors of where it is, haven’t you?”

“Sir, please…”

“If you know about it, I expect you to tell me. That’s an order.”

Hannelore bit down on her lip again, hard enough to break skin: a small trickle of blood ran down her chin, though she hardly seemed to notice. “There’s a fort in Wenshanagaw,” she said. “Off the main road, there’s a trail that heads to the northeast, through a narrow canyon of rock. You come out of that, and there’s a clearing where trees have been cut down. Follow that dirt path east and you’ll find it. I was out on a training exercise with some new recruits when we got too near. There were officers who told us not to investigate. Said we’d do better to forget what we’d seen…though we hadn’t seen much, I swear! Only a palisade, and a squadron of recruits running outside.”

“How far did you have to travel? How long of a march was it once you left the road?” Kurt wanted to know.

“It wasn’t far,” she said. “A few hours, maybe. We got lost in that canyon…there are a few narrow passages, they all twist and turn…and there were packs of native beasts in there, we had to fight them off.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” de Sardet said.

“You didn’t hear it from me, all right? There are people in the Guard…some of my fellow lieutenants, even…I think they’d kill me if they knew I’d talked to you. I don’t want to think about it.” She paused, then looked to Kurt. “I’m only saying anything because two of my recruits were taken. One was found dead under mysterious circumstances two months ago; the other, I haven’t seen, nor heard word of. I don’t know if she’s in that camp, or if she’s dead too, but…I may not have recruited her, but I looked after her, the same way you looked after your Reiner. I’d like to know what happened.”

“I hope to find out,” Kurt told her. “Not a word to anyone else, you understand me?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” de Sardet added as they went out.

“Wenshanagaw,” Kurt said.

“It isn’t far. We’ve traveled through that area already, on our way to San Matheus.”

Kurt paused. “I know we’ve only just arrived—”

“Will two days be soon enough?” de Sardet asked. “I don’t think that tonight will leave us enough time to provision the wagons, and I’d like to stop and see Monsieur Laurent; I’ll place an order for new clothing with Monsieur Georges, but that will take time, and in the meantime I would at least like to make sure that you, Vasco, and Siora all have a new pair of boots.”

“Are you sure?” he asked her. “I know Constantin wanted you to stay—”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” she answered. “He will understand. If this means bringing Reiner’s killers to justice, it will be worth it.”

_Justice._ Kurt’s heart caught in his throat. “It will be,” he agreed. “Thank you, Green Blood. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I told that doctor, he’s not the first young man I’ve seen with the lights gone from his eyes,” he said. “He isn’t even the first of my recruits to die. But he is the first to be murdered.” Kurt swallowed hard, anger warring with grief. “I have to find who did this. I have to know why. It can’t have been a simple accident; if it was, there would be no reason to cover it up. Did he discover something he shouldn’t have, I wonder? See something he shouldn’t? Or did he threaten to reveal the dishonorable actions of this phantom regiment? I cannot believe that Commander Torsten knows of this.”

“I know it’s hard for you to consider, but we know there’s corruption within the Guard,” de Sardet began.

“A few guards taking bribes and extorting merchants is bad enough, but the regional commander of Teer Fradee, authorizing a phantom regiment to carry out attacks on merchant caravans? I cannot believe it.” 

“I recruited Reiner for the Coin Guard because I knew it to be an honorable guild – a brotherhood of men and women, united under a single banner for a good cause, where a talented recruit can rise high on merit alone. Men like this Egon are soon hunted down and punished, while those who believe in the Guard’s values become respected officers.” He thought of Sieglinde, who any man would have been proud to serve under, and of his first commanding officer, a hatchet-faced man named Reinhold, who’d exemplified the Coin Guard’s virtues as well as its values. “If the regional commander of Teer Fradee himself knew what this regiment was up to…it’s impossible, Green Blood. I can’t believe it. It would make a mockery of everything the Guard stands for and everything I’ve devoted my life to.”

“That isn’t true,” de Sardet protested. “Even if the very commander of the Coin Guard was corrupt, your own honor would remain intact.”

“How could it, if I served a man who was so lost to honor? I am a Coin Guard; that is all I am: all I have ever been, and all I will ever be.”

“No,” de Sardet protested. “Kurt, you are so much more than that.”

“What am I, then?”

“My friend,” she answered unhesitatingly. “My friend, and a good man.”

The answer left him taken aback.

Memories weighed heavily on him that night, and he was haunted by nightmares. In his dreams, he was ten again: stumbling under the weight of a heavy pack, being chained to a wooden post and lashed for failure, being starved and beaten by a thin-faced captain with green eyes. _Hermann._

Kurt had told de Sardet that training wasn’t that harsh, but that hadn’t been true for him; he’d nearly died, beaten to death the same way that Reiner had been. _That camp was shut down a long time ago._ He had to believe that the regional commander for the Congregation had caught wind of the brutal methods of that elite training camp. _Too many boys died._

He dreamt of Johann that night, and of the blood on his own hands. _We did what we did at Hermann’s orders. He didn’t leave us a choice. Obey or join him in death._ He dreamt of Hans too, hanging from the rafters of their barracks with a noose made of his own shoelaces. _He couldn’t take it. The brutality of the training, the guilt of having participated in those night trainings, the nighttime visits from Hermann._ The rest of the nightmares were bad enough, full of broken bones and blood and pain, but worst of all were the nightmares he wished he could forget: the sound of the barracks door opening, the avid look in Hermann’s eyes when he awakened him, the sound of his voice as he’d ordered him up and out of bed. _On your knees, recruit!_

Kurt awoke in a cold sweat, the memory of Hermann’s eyes fresh in his mind. For a moment, he was ten years old again, terrified and ashamed; then, he remembered where he was, and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. _The ghost camp was shut down a long time ago._ His heart was still racing, and when he closed his eyes, he caught a flash of memory: Hermann’s face, with those thin lips and pale green eyes. _He can’t hurt you. He’s not here._

But the memories of the ghost camp haunted him, and he had to wonder about Reiner’s injuries. _He was taken to a camp for elite recruits._ He was older than Kurt had been, but in Kurt’s time, the ghost camp had been a different sort of experiment: molding children into ideal officers, capable of any sort of action. _Too many died._ He remembered a conversation he’d overheard then, one of the lieutenants of the camp telling Hermann that he thought they should have started with older recruits. _He said we were too young, too weak, that we died too easily._

The memory of Hermann’s response made Kurt’s gorge rise. _He said he liked us young. The younger, the better._

He rose from his bed and pulled out the chamber pot, vomiting into it. _It was a long time ago,_ he told himself. _Twenty years and more._ Yet it still rankled, knowing that Hermann was still serving somewhere. _They promoted the bastard and sent him up through the ranks. He’s probably a major by now. How many others has he hurt?_

Kurt fell back asleep, but was plagued by restlessness and guilt. _No one would have believed me if I’d spoken. It would have been Johann all over again._ The others had told him the same thing. _Gunter begged me not to say anything. He didn’t want to die, he said._ He hadn’t spoken then, and had kept his silence for years. _When I finally did speak up, it only proved they were right. It was better to stay silent._ When his dreams shifted back to beatings and memories of night training, it was almost a relief.

_We’ll get to the bottom of this camp,_ he swore when he awoke the next morning, feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. _We’ll find the bastards behind this and make them pay for what they did to Reiner._


	64. Sieglinde

The next day, he heard that Sieglinde had returned to the city, and went straight to her office. He’d expected to have more difficulty getting a meeting, but he was ushered in immediately upon arriving at her office.

“Kurt,” she said warmly. Kurt stood at attention; they might be old friends, but she was still the major of New Serene and his commanding officer. “At ease. There’s no need for the formality; it’s good to see you.” Rising from her desk, she extended an arm; Kurt grasped it, and she pulled him into a short, friendly embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” he agreed. Sieglinde had left for New Serene with Laurine de Morange and her retinue five years ago, taking Manfred with her. “Always good to see a familiar face.”

“Even better to see an old friend,” Sieglinde replied. “I was glad when I heard you were coming here. It surprised me.”

“Surprised me, too,” Kurt admitted. “But old d’Orsay wanted someone to keep looking out for his son and niece, so here I am. Given how long it’s been since we made landfall, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you sooner. We’ve been here for months.”

Sieglinde’s mouth set into a thin line. “I haven’t been in the city as much as I’d like. The commander’s sent me out into the field.”

“You’ve never been averse to that,” Kurt said. “As I remember it, we spent most of our time in the Red Sun in forests, swamps, or fields; we weren’t much in the cities.”

“And I think we both preferred it that way,” Sieglinde answered. “Anything to stay out of sight of those damned inquisitors…and to keep us from having to stand guard while they burned whichever poor bastards ran afoul of them that day. Here…” She frowned. “I don’t mind reviewing the troops, or doing what needs to be done…but I’m needed more here than in the wilderness, as you well know.” Her expression darkened. “You’ve done more to clean up this city than I’ve been able to do…but I’m afraid it’s only the tip of the dagger.”

“How could things have gotten so bad? A gang of guards running an extortion ring…murdering a merchant without being brought to justice…it’s not what I would have expected.” _You’re a better commander than that._

Kurt didn’t say it, but he could see Sieglinde knew what he was thinking. “I’m not in command here,” she said. “Not any more, not the way I ought to be. The commander has made New Serene something of his home. Before now, he was content to make San Matheus his base of operations, but over the last year or two, he’s been spending more and more time in New Serene.”

“San Matheus? I thought he came from the Green-Azure.”

“He did. But he’s good friends with the major in command of the Red Sun, and they’ve been thick as thieves for as long as I can remember. I’m not fond of either of the majors commanding the Red Sun or the Green-Azure; their heads are both firmly up the commander’s arse,” Sieglinde said bluntly. “Though, given how full of shit he is, I’m surprised there’s room for them.”

Despite himself, Kurt couldn’t help but cast a glance toward the door. “It’s the commander you’re talking about,” he said in a low voice. “If he heard—”

“I know,” Sieglinde said. “It’s dangerous business, Kurt, and I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t important. It’s safe to speak here, and I trust you not to go running to Torsten to tell him what I’ve said – though God knows he’d reward you if you did. If I didn’t have so much support among the men, he’d have gotten rid of me long ago…either court-martialed me and had me shipped back to Gacane, or arranged for those bastards with the silver coins to take care of me.”

Kurt stared at Sieglinde in shock. “You’re saying that Torsten is Egon?”

“No, but I’d wager he knows who he is, and that he turns a blind eye to Egon’s activities in exchange for a cut of the coin…and likely the occasional use of their services.”

“It’s not possible,” Kurt said instantly. _I’ve heard unsavory rumors about Commander Torsten, but this…coming from the head of the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee himself, a man who’s devoted his life to the Guard, who’s been elected commander by the Red Sun, Green-Azure, and Blue-Silver…_

Sieglinde gave him a sad smile. “I can see it on your face, Kurt. You don’t want to think a commander of the Coin Guard is capable of it. You want to believe Torsten is a good, honorable man, the way all commanders ought to be.”

Kurt thought of a memory of more than half a lifetime ago, of the twelve-year-old boy who’d been recovering in the infirmary when Major Torsten had stopped to review the troops. _He looked everything over, asked questions of the officers and recruits alike, and took a tour of the camp. Rolf gave him that tour._ Rolf had been bursting with pride as he’d led the major around, answering his questions; Kurt had been in no shape to compete with him, as he usually would have done. _I was surprised I was still alive. I didn’t know what the future would bring, or if Hermann would send me back to night training as soon as I got out of the infirmary._ Instead, word had come down that Torsten was disbanding the camp, reassigning the officers who’d been in charge, and that any of the trainees who were old enough were being given duty postings. Kurt, who’d turned thirteen in that infirmary, had been given city guard duty in the Bronze Shield Regiment, helping the Guard fulfill a minor contract to a small country in the northern reaches of the continent. _I thought I’d put it all behind me, never think of it again…but if that camp was shut down on Torsten’s orders, I owe him for it. A man who saw the truth of that hell and saved us from it can’t be one who’d throw in with this Egon and his bandits, or who’d lead the Guard itself into dishonor._

But he trusted Sieglinde implicitly; she had been his commanding officer and his friend, fighting behind enemy lines in the war between the Bridge Alliance and Theleme. _We’ve saved each other’s lives so often that we quit keeping count. She cares for the Guard as much as I do._ Sieglinde was everything an officer of the Coin Guard ought to be, the stoic soldier who cared only for her troops. _We talked about family, from time to time…but when she said the only family she needed were her brothers and sisters of the Guard, she meant it._ She was happiest leading a solitary existence; she didn’t seem to feel that aching loneliness that plagued Kurt, or the regret that a life spent in service to the Coin Guard left no room for a wife and children.

“I trust you,” he said. “You know that. But—”

“But you don’t want to think this is possible. That the Coin Guard hasn’t become a haven for scum who care nothing for honor or duty.”

“It’s what separates us from brigands,” Kurt said. “We’re mercenaries, yes, and coin is what we require, but—”

“But we have our principles,” Sieglinde finished. “We fight with honor, honor our oaths, and only grant our service to honorable causes. We don’t murder unarmed women or children. We don’t hurt the innocent. We don’t accept bribes.”

“Exactly.”

“You and I believe in those ideals; we believe in serving a cause greater than ourselves. Torsten doesn’t. You know what I’ve said of him in my letters. He talks of wanting to help the men, of reforming the Guard, of negotiating better conditions, but that’s all it is. He’s a rabble-rouser, telling the men what they want to hear to earn their support…and I fear he’s planning something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. He tries to keep me out of the city as often as he can, and he’s replaced as many of my own supporters with his own as he can. He wasn’t happy when he heard you were coming; he knew you’d served under me.” Sieglinde’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s been all I could do to convince him that we were never friends. I hate that I’ve done it, but I’ve tried to give him the impression that we never liked each other, and I’ve said any number of things about you over the last six months or so to build up the idea that we aren’t friends.”

“Such as?”

“That I thought you were a cold-hearted mercenary only in it for the money, for one.”

“I thought you said you’d lied to him.” 

“You like the rest of the world to think it’s true, but I know you better than that, Kurt.”

Kurt folded his arms across his chest. “I beg to differ. What else do I have?”

“Your honor,” Sieglinde replied. “Though I’d hoped to hear you’d found something more.”

“The Guard’s enough for me.” Sieglinde had often encouraged him to try to make more of a life for himself outside of the guild. _She said she wasn’t the sort of person to need anything more, but I was._ Back in the Red Sun Regiment, Sieglinde had often encouraged him to go back to city guard duty, to find himself a position where he might settle down with a wife and start a family. _I could never imagine it. A man who’s given his life to the Guard has no right to a family of his own…even if I could imagine it._ Kurt was too mired in his past to think he had any right to a future like the one Sieglinde had imagined for him. _Not that any woman in her right mind would want a man like me._

“That’s the impression I’ve given Torsten…or, at least, that I hope I’ve given him. That you’re a career officer, devoted to the Guard, one who’d admire a man who says the things Torsten does. That’s all true, at least.”

“Much of what he says makes sense,” Kurt said. “Nobles do look down on us. No matter the country, they count our lives cheaply.”

“How have your nobles treated you? You seemed happy enough when I left Serene, but five years is a long time, and I have heard the soldiers saying they’ve heard the new governor complaining about you.”

“Oh, really? What has His Highness been saying?”

“He’s been heard complaining that his father sent you with him,” Sieglinde said carefully.

“Trying to spare my feelings?” Kurt let out a guffaw. “He made that clear before our departure. He thinks I’m somewhere between a nursemaid and a spy, same as his old tutor, de Courcillon. If he’d gotten his way, it would have been him and Green Blood on that ship, and no one else.”

Sieglinde smiled. “Green Blood,” she echoed. “I see you’re still as fond of them as ever.”

“Not all nobles are bad,” he told her. “Even Constantin…he’s a good kid.”

“A child of twenty-six?”

“He’s never had to grow up,” said Kurt. “I think that’s why his father sent him here. Let him go off on his own, find his way, take some responsibility for once in his life. He seems to have been doing a good job of it.”

“And ‘Green Blood?’ Your legate?”

Kurt smiled. “She’s come into her own. Back in Serene, she was always in Constantin’s shadow, caught between looking after him and tending her mother. She had a bad time of it since she took sick.”

“The malichor doesn’t differentiate between princesses and ordinary people,” Sieglinde agreed. “It’s a terrible disease.”

“The Princess de Sardet knew she was dying, and that it was going to be an ugly death. She didn’t want Green Blood to have to watch.” He paused. “She asked me to come with them, to look out for her. I promised her I would.”

“As you have,” said Sieglinde. Now, her eyes danced. “I’ve heard of your exploits in the arena. Should I call you ‘Your Excellency?’”

“Damn Alaric and that stupid nickname.”

“Manfred tells me you’ve done quite well for yourself in the arena…and, of course, I heard about Lady de Sardet’s exploits with that native hunter. You trained her well, Kurt.”

“I can’t take credit for her magic.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. You trained her to fight with honor,” Sieglinde answered. “She saved Gaspard’s life…and that, after her investigation into Egon and his gang of the silver coin. I couldn’t get those merchants to talk for the life of me.”

“She’s talented,” Kurt said. “And she’s the most honorable woman I’ve ever known…truly the best. Coming to this island has given her the chance to strike out on her own, to make a difference…she’s always eager to help.” He couldn’t help but brag about de Sardet’s accomplishments: how she’d helped Siora’s people, retrieving Bladnid’s body and helping to bury her, her rescue of the scholars from the _doneia esgregaw_ , the corruption she’d ended at the Bridge Alliance’s outpost. “The help she’s given the Guard…” He told her about the weapons, then. “That does bother me. Why is Torsten smuggling weapons to Teer Fradee?”

“I don’t know,” Sieglinde admitted. “I’ve been doing my best to find out. He’s up to no good, Kurt, I know it. You’ve heard about this phantom regiment, haven’t you?”

Kurt couldn’t restrain himself. “Heard about it?” He told her everything: how he’d recruited Reiner in Serene, his hopes of recruiting him again to serve as Constantin’s personal guard, his discovery of Reiner’s dead body, bloated and blue, in the barracks morgue. “Green Blood twisted the Bridger doctor’s arm until he told us the truth. Reiner was murdered – beaten to death. His body was dumped in the harbor.”

“This phantom regiment is behind it, I know.”

“A shadow squadron of soldiers, loyal only to Torsten,” said Sieglinde, “carrying out attacks on merchant caravans…I know you said that the natives were responsible for some of those, but I’m certain that they carried out a fair number of attacks and blamed the natives as well, all in the hopes of arming themselves.”

“I thought that the outpost commander’s weapons sales might have something to do with it, but he was just corrupt.”

“Because of our commander’s example,” Sieglinde said. “If Torsten doesn’t have a hand in it directly, he condones it. Turns a blind eye, or worse. I think he was letting Egon and his men shake down those merchants as long as he got his cut. I can’t tell you how many times I tried to investigate, only to have my efforts thwarted, or to have my lead investigator summarily reassigned, or unluckily killed on patrol…things here are bad, Kurt. Torsten has ambitions…to be commander-in-chief, I think, and to remake the Guard in his image. He acts more like a king than a commander, and he surrounds himself with men who think the same way; he cares more for lining his own pockets than he does improving the lot of those he claims to support. The rot goes deep, and it comes from the very top.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” he admitted. “To think that the rot is at the top, that this corruption isn’t a few bad apples—”

“A few bad apples spoil the bunch,” she replied. “If this isn’t stopped, the Guard’s name will be ruined.”

“I’m going to stop it.” He paused. “I’ve found out where this camp is…at least, I think I have. Green Blood and I are going to investigate. Her name will get us through the gate, and I hope I’ll be able to find out what’s really going on there…and to get justice for Reiner.”

“Be careful, Kurt. I don’t want Torsten targeting you. He’s made too many of my allies disappear. You’re a hero of the arena, well-liked by the men under your command—”

“I haven’t seen enough of them,” he admitted. “I haven’t shirked my duties as captain of the palace guard, but I’ve let my lieutenants take care of the details there. Green Blood’s needed me more than Constantin.”

“You’re a capable officer, and I trust you to do your duty,” Sieglinde replied. “And, from what you’ve said, you’re right: Lady de Sardet needs your help more than Sir d’Orsay. I’ve spent enough time on the roads to know how dangerous they are, and from what you’ve told me, she’s been in more than a few situations that might have gone bad.” She paused, pacing back and forth for a few moments, an old habit that Kurt knew meant she was considering the situation. “In fact, it may be best if you stay away from the palace. If Torsten is planning something, it’s better that he thinks you’re not close to the governor.”

“He has to know that I’m fond of them. I’ve guarded the pair of them for nearly half my life. Besides, he knows I didn’t want Green Blood to go into that arena; I spoke out against it when he suggested it.” 

“He thinks the governor isn’t fond of you, and as far as he’s concerned, you cared more about saving your own life than the legate’s. I’ve tried to play that up when I talked about you…made it sound like you’ve never cared for nobles, that all those years in the palace only made you despise the lot of them, how they pretend to have their honor but it’s all a show.”

“You know I do despise that about them.” He’d said those words over a decade ago, after thwarting an assassination attempt that would have claimed the lives of both Alexandra de Sardet and Constantin d’Orsay. _I told her I didn’t understand how a man could claim to have honor while bribing assassins to murder children. I told her too many nobles in that hornet’s nest of a city were fond of saying they had honor and then behaving worse than a common brigand._

“But you don’t believe that of the nobles you serve.”

“No,” said Kurt. “I told you, Green Blood’s the most honorable woman I’ve ever met.”

A smile played upon Sieglinde’s lips. “Present company excluded?”

It took Kurt a moment to realize what he’d said. “I meant, the most honorable noblewoman,” he amended quickly, not wanting Sieglinde to think he’d been insulting her, but then he saw the teasing look in the major’s eyes.

“You seem fond of her, Kurt.”

“I always have been. She’s a good person, Sieglinde. You’ll like her.”

“I suspect I will.” Sieglinde smiled. “You seem to be closer to her than you were in Serene.”

Kurt thought of denying it, but knew better: Sieglinde knew him too well, and he was a poor liar in the best of times. “We’ve fought together,” he said. “You know that brings people closer.”

“And you’ve spent months together on a transport ship, and months in the field,” Sieglinde said. “I’d wager there’s been more talking than fighting.”

Kurt nodded. “I’ve gotten to know her better,” he admitted. “In Serene, I always kept at a distance. Here…it’s not possible. Especially after she helped me find out what happened to Reiner. In Serene, I would have told you that friendship between a noble and a Coin Guard was impossible, but here…”

“Teer Fradee, the island of miracles,” Sieglinde said, and smiled. “I’m happy for you, Kurt. You’ve been alone too long. Making a friend is a start.” The smile faded. “But keep it quiet, if you can. I don’t want Torsten thinking you’re too close to any nobles.”

“Because you’ve spent months misleading him about me.”

“I want him to think that you’re more loyal to him than you are. That you’re the sort of man who’d mindlessly obey any order ever given to you, so long as it was by a superior officer. That’s the sort of officer Torsten likes best, soldiers who obey without asking questions…who will do anything asked of them.”

_Soldiers like the ones the ghost camp made,_ Kurt thought. _Broken men who’d do anything asked of them._ Sieglinde had helped him question that training; he’d never taken entirely to it, but he knew that there was still a part of him that remembered the camp’s lessons. He rubbed at the scars on his wrist, faint and faded, and tried to ignore the memories.

“Kurt,” Sieglinde said; Kurt shook himself out of it, and saw Sieglinde watching him. Suddenly self-conscious, he froze. “I know you’re not that person.”

“But you want Torsten to think that’s who I am.”

“He’s dangerous, Kurt. He has to be stopped. I don’t know the full extent of what he’s doing with this phantom regiment; I don’t even know where he trains them, how many of them there are, what he’s planning. But Torsten has always been ambitious, and I fear that his ambitions will lead the whole Guard into ruin.”

“You’re exaggerating,” said Kurt, and again he thought of Major Torsten, who’d closed the ghost camp. “Torsten can’t have risen to the position of commander if he’s as dishonorable as you say. Everything he says about wanting to help the men, about being looked down upon…he has to believe some of it, at least.”

“Oh, Kurt. I hope you’re right, but I’ve known Torsten for too long to think you are. Why else would he have raised this phantom regiment? Why else would he turn a blind eye to Egon and his men, and interfere in my investigations?”

“He must have his reasons,” Kurt insisted. “Maybe he doesn’t know about the phantom regiment; maybe there are officers acting without his knowledge. Maybe he’s let his hatred of you blind him to the threat that Egon and his men posed. Maybe he’s too defensive of the Guard to hear any accusations against them. But to say he’s so corrupt as to have raised the regiment himself, closed his eyes to the murder of fresh recruits…Sieglinde, Reiner was beaten to death. They broke half the bones in his body and threw him in the ocean to cover it up. I had to write his family.”

“I’m sorry for you, Kurt, I really am,” Sieglinde said, “and I hope that you’re right, and my dislike of the commander has blinded me to his better qualities. But…”

“But you think I’m wrong.”

“I think you’re an idealist. I’ve always liked that about you, you know. You believe in the Guard, in what it can be…what it ought to be. And you’ve always lived up to your ideals.”

“No,” Kurt said, thinking of his time in that training camp. His face darkened with shame. “I haven’t.”

“You’re the most honorable man I know,” Sieglinde replied. She knew of his time in the ghost camp on the continent; he’d confided some of the worst parts of the camp to her, though not the very worst. “You’re a good man, Kurt, no matter what worse men have put you through.”

 _She knows how I got my scars, the night trainings, what they did to us there…but I’ve never breathed a word about those midnight visits in the barracks, and I never will._ There were some things he didn’t think he’d ever try to tell anyone. _Not again. Not after Inge._

“Thank you,” Kurt replied. “That means a great deal to me.”

“I know,” Sieglinde replied. “To someone like Torsten, or to one of his men, it wouldn’t. But to you…” She clasped him on the arm. “Go find out what’s happening in the wilderness…if there’s some training site, or if this is a place where this phantom regiment meets. Find out what’s going on. And be careful!”

“Not ‘fight with honor?’”

“I don’t have to tell you to do that. Good luck, Kurt.”


	65. Among the Ghosts

They set out a day later, two days after his conversation with de Sardet, just as she had promised. They took the road as if leaving for San Matheus, but took a trail that diverged into the woods, as the lieutenant had described.

As she had said, the area was infested with wild beasts: they had to cut their way through the narrow rock passages that twisted and turned, and ended up feeling so tired that they set up camp there for the night, in an open space that was large enough for their tents but easily defensible, having only a few egress points.

“Do you think we’re close?” Aphra asked. Kurt had been surprised when Aphra and Petrus both insisted on coming; Siora and Vasco had seen his grief for Reiner and knew how much he had meant, but he’d thought that neither the bishop nor the scientist would have any interest in traipsing through the wilderness in an attempt to track down rumors that might lead to justice for his dead recruit.

“I’m not sure,” Kurt admitted. “That lieutenant seemed to think it wasn’t far, but we’re working off rumors and hearsay.” He frowned. “I don’t know if I should be hoping we’ll find anything. I don’t want to have dragged all of you out here for nothing, but the idea this regiment has a secret camp in the woods, in Congregation territory no less…well, it bothers me.”

“It won’t have been for nothing,” de Sardet reassured him. “Even if we don’t find anything, it will have been worth it to investigate the rumors of this training camp. As the legate of the Congregation, even the rumor of such a camp in our territory, created without Constantin’s knowledge or permission, would be worth looking into.”

“What if this camp predates Constantin’s appointment as governor?” Vasco asked.

“Given what we’ve heard about this camp, it would have to,” said Kurt. “This regiment’s existed for more than a few months. That weapons shipment the commander had us smuggle over was ordered months before its fulfillment…and you know it wasn’t the first of its kind.” He didn’t like to think about it; it only raised questions in his mind of how many recruits had suffered and died from abuse that had been only thinly disguised as training. 

“Do you think that Lady de Morange knew?”

“I cannot imagine she would have,” de Sardet replied. Kurt knew she had spoken with de Morange about the issues facing the Congregation and the Congregation’s relationship with the Coin Guard on the island, just as de Morange had spoken to Constantin.

“Are you sure of that, my child?” Petrus asked. He leaned forward. “What do you know of Lady de Morange? I do have some recollection of both her and her family, but am afraid that my own information is likely more than a decade out of date.”

“What reason would she have to lie? Or to grant the Coin Guard permission to do such a thing, for that matter?”

“A favor to Commander Torsten, perhaps? Those of high rank are always interested in trading such favors with each other. Or she might have been blackmailed into it. After all, not all favors are willingly granted.”

“I cannot believe it,” de Sardet said. “Laurine de Morange has been open and entirely gracious…especially considering how much she loves this island, and how much work she invested in the city as governor, only to have my uncle deprive her of her post. I did speak with her regarding the Coin Guard before we left, though only in the most general terms. She does not seem to like Commander Torsten, and feels that his populist sentiments have served to exacerbate the conflict between the Coin Guard and the nobility here. She also expressed her frustration with what she believes to be growing corruption within the Guard. I do not think she would have willingly aided the commander…and I certainly do not believe she would willingly have allowed him to construct a camp for a shadow regiment here.”

“Perhaps she did not give him permission to construct a shadow regiment,” Petrus suggested, “but did permit the construction of a training camp, or something similarly innocuous…perhaps a fortress to protect merchants who stray too far from the road, or a listening post in the wilds.”

“They’d have to stray pretty far from the roads!” Vasco exclaimed.

“Yes, but I am certain that Lady de Morange would not venture into the wilderness to verify whatever story Torsten gave her,” Petrus answered.

“We can certainly ask her when we return to New Serene,” de Sardet said. “But first, we must find this camp and learn what is going on there.”

Kurt offered to keep watch that night, but he was overruled. “You need to rest, _carants_ ,” Siora told him. “I will keep watch. If we do find this camp of ghosts tomorrow, you will need your strength.”

“And your wits,” Vasco agreed. “You’ll be better off having had your rest.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to sleep?”

“Let de Sardet give you something. She’s good at preparing medicines. Knowing her, she already has a sleeping potion or two mixed up.”

He was right: de Sardet had overheard, and was at his side immediately, cup in hands. “This will help,” she said. “Please, take it.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said. “If something happens in the night—”

“Siora and I can keep watch,” said Vasco. “Or Petrus and Aphra, for that matter. We’re not defenseless.”

“Who do you want to accompany us tomorrow?” de Sardet asked him. “If we do find this camp, it would likely be wise for us to take only one or two others; I don’t want to frighten the camp’s commander by bringing too many people.” She paused. “I had thought you might want to take Vasco or Siora. I could say that Vasco is a liaison from the Nauts, serving as my attaché, or that Siora is a native guide who helped us through the unfamiliar territory.”

Kurt knew the real reason why she had made the suggestion. _She knows I’m closer to the pretty flower and the sailor than the old fox or the Bridger._ “I’d be glad to have either of them at my side,” he said, then looked to Vasco and Siora. “But I’ll warn you, if this camp is what I think it is, you won’t like what you see there. It won’t be pretty.”

“The Nauts’ training practices aren’t all kind, either,” Vasco replied.

“Not like this,” Kurt said. _Not if it’s as bad as I think. Not if they’ve built a new ghost camp here, on this island._ He didn’t want to believe it; even speaking of it brought back memories he tried to keep buried.

“I will go,” said Siora. “It will be easier for you to explain, I think…and if there are other young warriors in this camp who need to be healed, I may be able to help.”

“Other Reiners,” said Vasco. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Neither do I,” said Kurt. “But the pretty flower’s right. I’d be glad to have you along, sailor, but she may be of more use…and I don’t think Green Blood wants to leave the pretty flower alone at camp with the Bridger and the old fox for the entire day.”

Vasco snorted. “Not if she wants to have a camp to come back to,” he agreed. “I’ll admit, I’m not fond of the priests of Theleme, and this particular Bridger hasn’t done anything to endear herself to me, but I’m less likely to kill them both.”

“I do not like them, but I would not kill them,” Siora said. A small smile spread across her lips, and she admitted, “But you might come back to find them both tangled in vines.”

“Where I’m less likely to cause an incident,” said Vasco. He grimaced. “You know I won’t enjoy this.”

“We’re not going to enjoy what we’re doing either, sailor,” Kurt snapped.

Vasco looked dismayed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know,” Kurt said. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take your head off. It’s just – the thought of this damned camp—”

De Sardet pressed the cup into his hands. “Please, drink,” she said. “Get a good night’s rest.”

Despite the sleeping potion, Kurt awoke feeling less than refreshed: his rest had been consumed by nightmares that had been memories twisted by sleep. The memories would have been horrific enough if he had only relived them as they had occurred, but somehow his mind made them worse.

_I dreamt I’d been summoned for night training._ In his dream, he’d been wearing the same battered armor that he’d been in for the real night training that had nearly killed him, surrounded by most of the same boys who had been present: even more than twenty years later, he could still see their faces clearly, and remembered all their names. _Heinrich and Klaus, Gunter and Jurgen, Karl and Rolf._ Only, in his dream, two more boys had been present: Reiner, his recruit; and Hans, his best friend, who had killed himself rather than continue training.

In reality, Hans had been dead by the time Kurt had been summoned for night training, having taken matters into his own hands; in his dream, he had been dead, but he had been there still, his face as purple as it had been when Kurt had found him hanging in the barracks, his features distorted, but his eyes sad. Reiner had been there too, water dripping from his armor, his bruised and swollen features bloated from his time in the harbor, his eyes filled with reproach.

In his dream, Hans, Reiner, and the others had surrounded him, battering him with their swords – but they hadn’t finished him, as he’d expected. Instead, just as his helmet had been knocked from his head and the others had closed in, he’d heard a voice shouting above the sounds of battle – and that voice, instead of being a harbinger of mercy, had made the nightmare even worse. Hermann had come forward, his pale green eyes avid. Unlike the others in the dream, he was neither armed nor armored, but that made it all the worse. “Recruit!” he’d shouted. “On your knees!”

He’d smiled and reached for his belt buckle, and only then had Kurt awakened, feeling the bile rising at the back of his throat, covered in cold sweat. _Hermann is half a world away,_ he told himself. The last he had heard, Hermann was in the Red Sun Regiment. _He’s serving in San Adrien or Lacillion or the Holy City itself, helping inquisitors burn poor innocents and being lauded by bishops and cardinals for his service._ That thought carried its own bitterness, but it helped him slow his racing heart as he took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling of his tent, trying not to remember. _You’re not a boy of twelve any more. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you._

Kurt wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and tried not to think of the others. _Most all of them are dead now._ His heart ached as he thought of Hans. _It wasn’t so long after his death that they shut it all down. If he’d held on a little longer…but was it his death that pushed Torsten over the line? If he was the one who’d arranged it in the first place, what made him decide to shut it all down?_ He wasn’t sure if Hans’s death had been the tipping point, the last in an ever-increasing list of casualties that had made Torsten decide too many of their young recruits were dying in their attempts to make them into perfect soldiers.

 _I was almost the last death. I’m still not sure why I wasn’t._ He’d spent most of his time in the camp’s infirmary convinced that he’d wake one night to find Hermann pressing a pillow over his face, or that he’d be released from the infirmary only to find himself summoned for another bout of night training. _The camp was shut down before I could fully recover. That might have saved my life._ He could hear the sounds of others stirring outside the tent, and realized that it must be time to rise. _A good thing. I know I wouldn’t get back to sleep._ Pulling on his armor, he took another deep breath. _If Torsten’s built another camp here, I’ll shut it down myself, and then we’ll go back to New Serene and make him pay._

When Kurt emerged from his tent, Petrus was fretting at de Sardet. “Are you certain you wish to take such a small party, my child? What if you encounter trouble in the woods? You do not know precisely where you are going, after all.”

“I’m taking Siora.”

“Yes,” Petrus said, managing to convey a remarkable amount of disapproval in one syllable. “I do not believe that she is adequate to protect you.”

“Kurt will protect me.”

“Your captain normally seems to do an admirable job, but he seems quite dangerously distracted,” Petrus said. “The matter of this camp clearly troubles him—”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Kurt said; Petrus flinched involuntarily as he came up behind him, but managed to keep his expression neutral. “This camp bothers me, I won’t lie about that, but it won’t keep me from doing my duty.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that you would neglect your duties,” Petrus replied, “only that you will undoubtedly be less effective than you usually are. This situation is clearly taking its toll on you.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Kurt said tightly.

“I trust Kurt,” de Sardet agreed. “I thank you for your concern, Father, but I don’t think it’s warranted.”

“What if the officers of this phantom regiment decide to get rid of you? I cannot imagine they will be pleased to find you investigating.”

“I will be sure to mention that I have a party waiting for me nearby,” de Sardet said, “and that Constantin knew precisely where I was going and why. There’s no reason for them to know that we didn’t already know the location of their camp. As far as they are concerned, we knew for a fact this camp existed and where it was, and this is only a surprise inspection on our part…an investigation into the details of its purpose and how it functions.”

Petrus raised an eyebrow. “A clever ruse,” he conceded. “However, I would feel better if you allowed me to accompany you.”

“Don’t worry, de Sardet,” said Vasco. “I’ll keep the father and our Bridger friend from killing each other. It should be an…interesting day.”

“Perhaps we could venture out into the countryside,” Aphra suggested. “It seems a shame to sit around staring at each other all day. There could be some interesting botanical specimens.”

“Or there could be wild beasts waiting to devour us all,” Petrus shot back sourly. “It would be safer for us to stay here.”

“Would it?” Vasco asked. “Somehow, I think the real danger might be in keeping the two of you in close quarters all day. There’s a reason the Nauts won’t book passage for members of the Bridge Alliance and Theleme on the same ship.”

“There will only be trouble if Lady Aphra initiates it,” Petrus said. “Some of us are capable of behaving civilly, even to those we dislike.”

“Are you saying I’m not civil?”

“I’m saying that only one of us introduced ourselves to this party by pointing a gun in someone’s face.”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

Vasco looked to de Sardet, Kurt, and Siora. “You see what you’re leaving me with,” he said.

“I trust you’ll manage,” de Sardet said, smiling.

“I’m glad it is you and not me, _carants_.”

“If I could put my hand on the ground and summon vines to tie them up, I’d be tempted.”

“If Aphra wants to go looking for plants, don’t let her go alone. This far from the road, I doubt there will be any highwaymen or bandits, but we’ve encountered so many animals that I don’t believe it’s safe,” said de Sardet.

“I won’t. I know Governor Burhan won’t be happy if we let her get eaten by _andrig_.” Vasco looked hopefully to Siora. “I don’t suppose you’d like to describe anything that grows around here that I might be able to eat? If we’re going to be looking at plants, I’d rather get something to supplement my supper. The best part of being ashore is the freshness of the greenery.”

“Speaking of food, you should eat something,” de Sardet told Kurt. “We don’t know how long we’ll have to travel before reaching this camp, if we do find it today.”

“If it’s there, we’ll find it today. It’s not that far from the road.”

As it turned out, it wasn’t: they had to fight their way through more beasts, but as they did, Kurt noticed a trail that led to the east, uphill. “This is what that lieutenant described,” he said. “Come on, we’re close.” It wasn’t long before the trail gave way to a wooden palisade. Kurt saw the sentries keeping watch at the gate; one disappeared from his post as they neared the camp. “Be careful,” he said. “They’ve seen us.”

De Sardet held up both her hands. “I am the legate of the Merchant Congregation,” she called out as they approached. “My name is de Sardet. I have come to inspect your camp. These are my friends; they are with me. We intend no harm. Please, hold your fire.”

 _This boy’s a raw recruit,_ Kurt thought: beneath his helmets, the sentry’s face was young, and he was trying unsuccessfully to grow a beard. _He can’t be more than sixteen._

“As I said, I am Legate de Sardet of the Congregation of Merchants, and I request entrance to your camp,” de Sardet repeated in a more normal tone as they came to a halt in front of the gate.

“This camp is secret,” the recruit blurted. “How did you know where it was?”

“This camp is on Congregation territory,” de Sardet replied. “I have come to learn more about it…for example, what precisely makes it such a secret?”

“That’s a secret,” the recruit blurted. “I mean, it’s a camp for secret training.”

“Well, it’s hardly a secret to us,” de Sardet replied. “After all, we are here now.”

“We’re not to let anyone in, Your Excellency,” the boy said; he darted a nervous glance up at the wall, as if he expected to see someone listening in. As he turned his head, Kurt saw the purple bruise against his jawline, and realized that the failed attempt at a beard was also a failed attempt to cover it.

 _How many bruises does he have that we can’t see?_ Anger rose in his chest. “This is the legate of the Congregation, recruit,” he spoke up, “and I am Captain Kurt of the Blue-Silver. What’s your name and rank?”

“Recruit First-Class Herschel, sir!”

“Of which regiment?”

“The Blue-Silver, sir!” 

“Recruit Herschel,” Kurt said, adopting the tone of authority he usually used with recruits; immediately, Herschel straightened, his posture becoming that of a soldier at attention. “As a captain of the Blue-Silver Regiment, I am ordering you to open this gate and let us inside.”

Herschel hesitated. “But – sir—”

“Are you questioning my orders?”

The way Herschel flinched gave Kurt a pang of regret for having sounded so stern; it was the movement of someone who expected to be hit. “No, sir!” Herschel turned and called out, “Open the gate!”

The gate swung open, and for a moment, Kurt thought he’d been transported back in time. The camp was very nearly identical to the one he’d been in on Gacane: there were combat pits to the left and right, and a barracks immediately in front of him. To the rear of the barracks, he knew, there would be a stables and area for storage, and another combat pit, larger than the two in front of him.

“That must be the camp’s commander,” said de Sardet, nodding to a figure who was quickly approaching.

Kurt looked up, and for a moment, he truly could not believe his eyes. _Well, fuck me._ He hadn’t seen Rolf in more than fifteen years. _After we left the ghost camp, I’d hoped never to see him again._ He hadn’t been that lucky; they’d been stationed together in the Green-Azure Regiment, fighting for the Bridge Alliance. Kurt had been glad to leave. _When I transferred to the Red Sun, part of me hoped I’d meet him again on the battlefield._

Rolf hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. He stood half a head shorter than Kurt, but was still stocky and strong. He’d kept the mustache and small strip of beard that he’d grown during his time in the Green-Azure, though he’d added a certain amount of stubble to it. His face was still unscarred, though no one would ever have called him handsome: he had a prominent nose, small brown eyes, and craggy features.

He was also staring at Kurt with an equal amount of disbelief and dismay in his own expression. “I was informed of your arrival by my sentinels, but I didn’t think it would be you, Kurt!”

“Rolf,” he said. “You’re the leader of this camp?” He felt the anger in his chest again, tighter and more difficult to conceal. _How could you?_ he wanted to demand. _You got out of that hellhole alive, and now you’re putting kids through it?_

De Sardet looked to him. “Do you two know each other?”

“We…trained together,” he managed, folding his arms across his chest. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time. A very long time.”

“The world of warriors is very small, Kurt!” Rolf sounded bluff and cordial, as if he was genuinely an old friend he was glad to see again. “What brings you here, my old comrade?” But he couldn’t keep the suspicion from his voice as he added, “And who are these people with you? They’re not one of us.”

Kurt stiffened as he saw Rolf looking de Sardet and Siora up and down in turn. He didn’t fail to notice the appreciative look that came into Rolf’s eyes as he eyed them, even though his gaze remained tinged with suspicion.

“My name is de Sardet. I’m the legate of the Merchant Congregation.”

“And I am Siora, _doneigad_ of the _gais rad_.”

“These people sure are important,” said Rolf, in a tone that implied he didn’t know why they would be traveling with someone like Kurt. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“I’ve heard things about this place. About this…very special camp.”

“We wanted to see what it was all about with our own eyes,” de Sardet added hastily. She shot an anxious look at Kurt, and he knew he’d done a poor job of keeping the hostility from his voice.

 _I always knew Rolf was a bastard, but the idea that he’s behind this…that he’s responsible for Reiner’s death…_ In his mind, he remembered the boy from more than twenty years ago. Most of Kurt’s fellow recruits had been upset when they’d beaten him; there had been tears streaming down Karl’s face, and toward the end, Jurgen hadn’t been able to look when he swung his sword. _But Rolf…Rolf was smiling the entire time._

“That’s very nice of you, but visitors aren’t welcome in this camp. What goes on here is only the Guard’s business.” Rolf crossed his arms over his chest, his position a mirror image of Kurt’s.

Kurt bristled. “Does the same apply to me?” He glowered at Rolf, and as he locked eyes with the other man, stared him down. _I’m not giving up so easily._

Rolf knew it. He sighed, uncrossing his arms. “Listen, Kurt. I can give you and your…friends…some answers, but only because it’s you.” He grimaced. “Anyway, knowing you as well as I do, I’m aware I’m not going to get rid of you that easily.” Turning to de Sardet, he said, “So, what would you like to know?”

“What is it you do here?” de Sardet asked. “And why is this place kept secret? Even from your comrades in the Guard?”

“The natives have their magic, and we have to be able to train elites to be able to face them. Our role is…sensitive, and our location obviously cannot be revealed to the whole island.”

“Does this man not realize that I’m a _doneigad_?” Siora asked.

“I know that you’re a native, but you’re a friend of Kurt’s, so I trust you to be discreet.”

“I see the reason for this training,” de Sardet hedged. “The Bridge Alliance would be particularly interested in soldiers like these. And yet I’ve never heard of this elite squadron.”

“We’re still in the early stages of the program,” said Rolf, and all Kurt could think about was how many months it must have been since the camp began.

 _Lies. All of this, lies. Does he think we’re idiots? How much time would it have taken to build this camp? How many months has it been since Torsten started smuggling weapons here for them to use? Sieglinde said this is the work of years._ As Rolf smiled winningly at de Sardet, Kurt wanted nothing more than to reach forward and wipe the smile off his face with a gauntleted fist.

“We don’t want to rush things, and our leaders demand secrecy. Orders are orders!”

 _Orders are orders, and we’re trained to do nothing but obey. In this camp, obedience is survival._ Kurt remembered that all too well. _They break us down to build us up, they said…but all they ever wanted was to break us._

De Sardet asked about the camp’s organization, and Rolf readily told her everything Kurt already knew about its layout. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when Rolf turned an oily smile on him and said, “But you already know all this, Kurt…it must bring back memories!”

“Yes,” he answered shortly. Again, he saw de Sardet glance at him with concern, but she had neither the time nor the privacy to speak to him; instead, she had to turn back to Rolf, asking after the training. He answered her with a reply that meant nothing, speaking of getting the men used to their environment and of how the natives’ knowledge of the terrain was as great an advantage as their magic. Kurt could see that de Sardet was getting frustrated with the lack of real answers, though she was better at hiding it.

“Actually, we found out about this camp while we were looking for someone,” she said.

“A kid I recruited,” Kurt added. “Reiner.” He watched Rolf’s face as he said the name, waiting to see if he’d recognize the name or have a reaction. _Do you even remember the kids who’ve died here? Do you care about any of them?_ Part of him worried that Rolf had heard the name. _If he knew Reiner was my recruit, if he knew how much he meant to me, it would have put a target on his back. He’d have hurt him to get back at me._

But the startled look he saw on Rolf’s face told him Rolf hadn’t known. “Oh,” Rolf said. “I didn’t know he was one of yours. My condolences. I was told he died in an accident in the harbor.”

He could see from the look on Rolf’s face that he was trying to get a rise out of him. _He’d like nothing more than for me to try to come at him with my bare hands. He wants me to give him an excuse to throw us all out._ Instead, Kurt kept his voice as level as he could as he said, “Don’t insult my intelligence, Rolf.”

Rolf looked disappointed. “All right,” he conceded. “Since you’re here, I guess there’s no point in lying to you.” He spun out a story about Reiner dying on a training maneuver.

 _Bullshit,_ Kurt wanted to say. _I know you’re lying, and you know I know. Why don’t you tell me the truth? He was beaten to death, the same way Johann was, and Peter, and Markus. The same way I almost was._

He was moments from saying something when de Sardet spoke up. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time.”

“I agree, and I have things to do.”

“I’d like to question your lieutenant instructors, if you don’t mind,” said Kurt. “To ask them about Reiner.”

Rolf gave a derisive snort. “You’ve become a real sap!” He grimaced. “Fine. But try not to disrupt the day’s schedule too much!”

As Rolf disappeared back into the barracks, Kurt turned to de Sardet. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t contain my anger.”

“I noticed,” said de Sardet. “Good thing you know this captain so well. I don’t think he would have let us investigate otherwise.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good thing, really.” _If he thought he could get away with it, he’d hurt you to get back at me._

“You do not seem to like this man,” Siora said.

“Rolf doesn’t bring back good memories for me.” He couldn’t keep the darkness from his tone then, and he saw de Sardet look at him with concern. Before she could say anything, he added, “But let’s continue. I want to know what’s going on here.”

They did, questioning the lieutenant instructor who’d headed Reiner’s squadron. “The recruits who come here are the best…and in my squadron, they get even better,” he boasted.

De Sardet asked after the training, and received another non-answer. “Complex secret manuevers,” the man said, protesting that he couldn’t tell them.

“That’s a pity,” Kurt said, unable to contain his sarcasm. “That would certainly be instructive.”

De Sardet asked after Reiner. “Oh, he was a good one,” the lieutenant said, and even now, Kurt could not help but feel a surge of pride, mixed with his grief. He told them Reiner had fallen to his death in a ravine. “I know, it’s not glorious, but it happens.”

Kurt enjoyed the man’s obvious discomfort when he told him they were going to speak with his recruits. “I hope it won’t take too long,” the man said nervously.

As they moved away from him and toward the combat pit, Kurt said in a low voice, “The story about training against magic is a lie. This lieutenant has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“So what could they be training recruits here for then?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt admitted, “but whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

They questioned the recruits, but could get nothing from them: they shook like leaves, casting nervous glances at the lieutenant and each other. Most weren’t very talkative at all, excusing themselves as soon as they could; it took nearly cornering one of them to get him to say more than a few words, talking about the training they were doing and how intense it was. When de Sardet asked after the physical training, noting that the recruit looked exhausted, the boy protested, “I’m not a coward, or a weakling! The strength of the Shadow!”

“What is that, your motto?”

“Our squadron’s, Captain!”

 _Shadow and Specter Squadrons,_ Kurt thought. _Just as we were the Storm and Strife. I hate this. I hate all of this. Rolf, what have you done?_

When de Sardet asked after Reiner, the recruit went as white as a sheet, then told them he’d been sent on a special assignment elsewhere, obviously having no idea that they knew of his death or the story the lieutenant had spun for them.

“Sorry, mate, but that’s not what happened,” Kurt said as the boy protested about Reiner’s mission. He would have tried to press him further, but saw de Sardet give a slight shake of her head. _She’s right. We won’t get anything from these kids._ He knew how it felt to be so utterly terrified. _I was the same way when Torsten came to the infirmary to question me. I only told him anything because I thought I was already dead._ Kurt hadn’t been thirteen, but he’d thought his life was over, or at least that he had nothing left to lose. _I hope Rolf isn’t sending them to night training. I hope he stopped that, at least._ But he knew he couldn’t be certain.

“Good heavens, I feel like a bogeyman,” Kurt said as they climbed out of the pit.

“These recruits are clearly scared to let any information slip.”

“It’s as if their life depended on it.” Again, he thought of the punishment they might face. _If that’s what happened to Reiner…_

The other lieutenant, Ethel, was more forthcoming: she spoke of the differences between the squadrons, the training, and how she herself had come to the camp, an experienced instructor who’d trained hundreds of men. She spoke eagerly, promoting herself and her skills as well as speaking of the skills she’d instilled in her soldiers. 

“They learn discipline, and to outdo themselves,” she boasted. 

“You mean to blindly follow orders, even unto their death,” Kurt said bitterly.

“No!” Ethel protested, but Kurt knew the truth.

_The ghost camp taught me how to kill…but what it really wanted was to teach me to obey without question. If those teachings had stuck, I’d have turned my head and looked the other way when we found Reiner’s body; I would have accepted that Bridger doctor’s lies about an accident in the harbor. I would never have come here._ He wanted to thank de Sardet for all her help, as well as for encouraging him. _If not for Green Blood, I wouldn’t have gotten half as far._

“…I worked with Captain Rolf in the past, and when I arrived on the island, he recommended me for this position,” the instructor was boasting, not realizing that, to Kurt, working with Rolf was anything but a recommendation.

“That’s very impressive,” said de Sardet, “and I expect you’re familiar with the natives’ environment and magic.”

“Yes…yes, of course,” the lieutenant replied, but she was clearly caught off-guard.

“Kurt, don’t you think that someone this talented fits what we’re looking for?” de Sardet asked suddenly. “You see, we need to find someone who can replace Kurt to oversee my cousin’s security.”

Lieutenant Ethel eyed de Sardet’s birthmark. “Your cousin’s the governor of New Serene, I’ve heard. It’s a prestigious position! I don’t doubt my abilities, but an offer like this, made so suddenly, must have a price.”

“I can’t hide anything from you!” de Sardet said brightly. She met Kurt’s eyes, and he knew suddenly what she was trying to do.

_This lieutenant is corrupt._ In asking the price, she was indicating she was willing to accept. _Green Blood knows we won’t get anything from her if we ask outright, but offering a bribe…well, it might just work._

“We’re trying to find out what happened to Reiner, a recruit who trained here,” said Kurt.

“That name doesn’t sound familiar. He must have been in the Shadow Squadron.”

“The other lieutenant’s squadron.” _At least they’re consistent about that._

“Yes. I’m sorry, I’m not much use to you. Did something happen to him?”

“He died,” said Kurt, and watched her carefully for a reaction. _You know precisely what happened._ “His body was thrown in the harbor to make it look like he drowned.” Despite himself, he could feel the lump in his throat rising, and he swallowed hard.

The lieutenant had been watching him as well. “I guess he was one of your recruits,” Ethel said, seeing him blinking fiercely. “My condolences, Captain.” Despite everything, she almost sounded sincere at that.

_How can you be?_ Kurt wanted to ask her. _You’re responsible for beating these boys, for waking them in the middle of the night so they get no rest, for training them night and day until they’re half-mad from exhaustion. Do you feel anything for any of them? Did that other lieutenant feel anything for Reiner when he died?_

“We’ll question some of your soldiers,” he said, knowing that she couldn’t deny them; he outranked her, and given the bribe de Sardet had offered, she would be unwilling to offend the legate. 

“All right,” Ethel said uneasily. Like her counterpart, Lieutenant Helmuth, she advised them to be quick about it, saying she wanted to get on with training.

These boys were as terrified as the others. Again, most would tell them very little, and quivered in fear when they approached; all of them spent their time being questioned darting glances over their shoulder, as if looking out for both the lieutenant and each other.

“Do accidents happen here often?” de Sardet asked one.

“No…only to those who aren’t strong enough.”

Kurt reeled. _That’s what Rolf always said when someone died. That they were weak, that it made the squadron stronger, that they deserved what they got._ He’d always thought Rolf’s talk was a way of telling himself that it couldn’t happen to him. _Now he’s in charge, and he’s telling these boys the same thing._

Anger flared in his eyes, and de Sardet saw. “That’s strange,” she said quickly. “I was told this recruit was very talented.”

_My anger’s not for him, Green Blood,_ he wanted to say as the boy floundered, unable to come up with a satisfactory reply, and promptly began to protest that he needed to get back to his training.

“He seems afraid that an accident might befall him too,” Kurt said dryly, wanting to see his reaction. The recruit’s utter panic confirmed to him what he already knew. _Reiner’s death was no accident. He was murdered, and Rolf and his lieutenants need to be held responsible._

But they needed to know more, and none of the other recruits were any more helpful than the first. At last, they came to one boy who seemed more talkative than the rest. He was tall and thin – not quite Kurt’s height, but taller than de Sardet, with a thin face and relatively nondescript features. Given the ease with which he handled his _zweihander_ , Kurt suspected that his thinness was deceptive. _He’s got some strength in those arms, and some skill, too._

The boy was terrified enough that he nearly dropped his sword when they approached. “We would like to know more about your training.”

“I have nothing to say about it,” the boy answered, then eyed Kurt’s uniform. “Sir!”

“Come on,” Kurt said, trying to strike a balance between friendliness and authority, knowing that the boy wouldn’t believe he was a friend in any case. _I wouldn’t have believed it, not when I was a raw recruit in a godforsaken camp like this one. I knew better than that._ “It’s a simple question. What do you do during training?”

“Is this a test, Captain?” he stammered when Kurt asked after the training.

“No, it’s not a test. You may speak freely,” de Sardet reassured him.

“Training is difficult, but we can’t complain!" 

“That’s an interesting way to phrase it,” de Sardet observed.

When she added that the squadron seemed to be entirely unified, the boy’s expression darkened. “United unto death,” he muttered, and Kurt felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

“That’s rather sinister,” said de Sardet; she had noticed it too.

“Is the name Reiner familiar?” _Reiner may not have been the first recruit to die here, but he will be the last._

“Yes – no. Not really.” But Kurt had heard the way that the boy breathed ‘yes,’ and knew the truth.

“You seem rather hesitant. Afraid of being reprimanded by your lieutenant?”

“No,” the boy said, too quickly. “Well, not at all. It’s just I can’t tell you anything about Recruit Reiner.” His eyes filled with fear as he continued to protest, looking to his instructor, who was watching them. “And we’re lucky to have the lieutenant as our instructor!”

“We should leave this soldier to his work,” said Kurt.

De Sardet nodded. “Your name, soldier.” 

“Recruit First-Class Wilhem, Specter Squadron!”

“Keep it up,” de Sardet said.

“This recruit Wilhem in spite of himself let on more than the others,” Kurt murmured to de Sardet as they climbed out of the pit.

“His resentment is clear,” de Sardet agreed, “but he won’t divulge anything as long as his instructors are nearby.”

“Then we’ll have to get them to leave. I can do that,” said Kurt. “If I can get the lieutenants to clear the area for half an hour, do you think you can get more out of him?”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I’ll ask for a tour of the place. I’m a captain, so I can order them to do it. They won’t have a choice. Once we’ve gone, you can question Wilhem.”

“I don’t like this,” said de Sardet. “I don’t like the idea of you going off on your own.”

“I promise not to fly off the handle.”

“It isn’t that,” she said. “What if they do something to you?”

“Lock me away in a dungeon, you mean? Or try to kill me once I’m out of your sight? If they wanted me dead, I don’t think your presence would do much to stop them. One of us against all of them or three, it makes little difference.” Seeing the worry in de Sardet’s eyes, he softened. “I’ll be careful, I promise you.”

She nodded, and Kurt called for the lieutenants, ordering them to show him around. They tried to protest, but he pulled rank, and they were left with no choice.

_I don’t know why I need them to give me a tour,_ he thought as they led him around. _I could walk through this place blindfolded._ He felt a thrill of horror as he realized that the camp had indeed been constructed in the exact image of the ghost camp in Gacane: even the barracks were outfitted the same way. _If_ _I’m correct, that means I don’t want to think about what’s in the basement._ “So, shall we see the cellars?” he asked once they’d given him a tour of the mess hall, kitchen, and soldiers’ barracks.

“No, Captain! I mean, there’s nothing down there of interest,” said Lieutenant Ethel.

“And we don’t have the key,” Lieutenant Helmuth added. “All that’s down there are spare provisions.”

“So you feel the need to lock up sacks of flour? What, do you starve your soldiers that badly?” Kurt tried to make a joke of it, but all he could think of was how often he’d gone to bed hungry in the ghost camp. _Karl used to joke I’d have been seven feet tall if they’d fed me enough._ He thought of the days that lieutenants like Ethel and Helmuth had forced them to fight for scraps, taking bets on which recruits would do the best.

From the look that the two lieutenants exchanged, he knew things weren’t much different here. “No, Captain!” Ethel said, too quickly. “Our recruits get enough to eat.”

“We teach them to forage, to live off the land…part of the training, you know,” added Helmuth. Kurt had tried to draw them out more on the subject of training; he knew that neither would willingly tell him the truth, but he hoped that one of them might reveal a hint of the truth within their lies.

_At least I’ve gleaned a little more. The recruits are divided and trained in different methods according to their squadron. The Shadow Squadron was designed to fight in all terrain, while the Specter Squadron seems to be a group of assassins. That’s different._ The ghost camp in Gacane hadn’t differentiated; all the recruits had been taught all the skills. _Though we were there for longer…years, not months. It seems that Rolf is responsible for training a larger number of men for a shorter period of time._

“It’s not flour we’re locking up, it’s arms,” Helmuth added. “You know procedure. Arms and ammunition ought to be kept under lock and key at all times.” 

“Arms that have been smuggled here from the continent?”

From their looks of shock, he could tell they were astonished that he knew. “I brought some of those here myself,” he said.

That clearly confused them. “Is this a test?” Helmuth asked, echoing the recruit’s question. “Did Torsten send you? The camp is functioning as promised, sir.”

_Torsten._ Kurt could have put his fist through the wall. _He is neck-deep in this. This is his project as much as Rolf’s._ “I can see that, but Recruit Reiner’s death raised some questions.”

“Is that why the legate’s with you?” asked Helmuth.

Ethel was clearly more suspicious. “I think we’ve said enough, Lieutenant,” she told Helmuth.

“I’d like to see this basement armory,” Kurt pressed. _If it is an armory._ He had his suspicions about what might truly be in the basement, though he didn’t want to believe them. _I don’t want to believe Rolf is capable of that._

“We – we told you, we can’t!” Helmuth’s panic reminded Kurt of the recruits’. “We don’t have a key.”

“Don’t have a key? Doesn’t Rolf trust you?”

“The captain would trust us with his life! Sir!” Ethel seemed offended.

“Then why don’t we go and ask him? He’s in his quarters, is he not? Upstairs?” _If this is anything like the barracks in Gacane, nearly the entire upper floor belongs the commander._

“He gave orders not to be disturbed,” said Helmuth.

“And he’s a captain, just as you are…and he’s in our direct chain of command,” Ethel concluded triumphantly.

Kurt knew she had him there. _I could insist, but it would be more trouble than it’s worth…and I have no desire for a private meeting with Rolf._ Even their brief encounter had been more than he’d liked. _When I left the Bridge, I never wanted to see him again…not unless it was on the opposite side of a battlefield, back when I was serving with the Red Sun._

Instead, he asked for them to show him around back. “You have stables, don’t you? Even though horses are rare on this island.”

“Yes. We have three, in case we need to send a message urgently to any of the cities of the island…or all three at once, as the case may be. We cannot always know where the commander is, so if there was urgent news…”

“Yes, I see.” Kurt kept them occupied, insisting on inspecting the enormous combat pit that had been built behind the barracks, asking questions about both lieutenants. Ethel had come from the Green-Azure, where she had served with Rolf, while Helmuth had come from the Red Sun.

“Major Hermann himself recommended me for this camp,” he boasted, and was all Kurt could do to keep from flinching at the name. “He told me that he knew Captain Rolf…that he’d mentored him from the time he was a boy, you see? And that he’d kept an eye on him as he’d come up through the ranks.”

That made Kurt shudder. _I wanted nothing more than to escape Hermann. How could Rolf want to stay near him? Use him, as a way to climb the ranks? They’ve been in opposing regiments for years._ But then he thought of the corrupt captain at the Bridge Alliance outpost. _Domeric had his contacts in the Red Sun. Were they the same way, but on the continent? Trading information, supplies, contraband? Arranging clandestine meetings?_

The thought of willingly meeting with Hermann in the middle of the night made him want to vomit. _I don’t think I’ve ever loathed Rolf as much as I do now._

He had no desire to ask about anything more after that, but he knew that de Sardet and Siora would need as much time as he could give them. Kurt played it out as best he could, until at last both lieutenants wearied of his questions and his chatter about life in New Serene compared to the continent.

“As much as we’ve enjoyed showing you around our camp, we do have to get back to our duties,” said Ethel.

“I’m sure your legate will be wanting you back. What’s your job, anyway?”

“I protect her back,” Kurt said flatly.

Helmuth ran his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. “And a very nice back it is.”

“Careful. You’re talking of a noble lady,” said Ethel.

“Fuck the nobles,” Helmuth replied, then gave Kurt a grin. “Literally, in this case. If I could, anyway. It’s a pity I won’t have the chance.”

“Watch yourself,” Ethel interrupted. “He’s out of line, Captain, and I know it. It won’t happen again.”

“Torsten has a point. Why should we treat these nobles with respect? It’s not as if they’d ever think twice about us. We deserve better.”

“Do you?” Kurt asked. _I know these boys deserve better than what you’re putting them through._ He only hoped that de Sardet had learned enough to let them put an end to it.

“What, don’t you think so?”

Kurt sensed the discussion was moving into dangerous territory. “I don’t get paid to think!” he replied, affecting the light tone he used whenever he didn’t want to get his own feelings involved. “I go where I’m asked and do what I’m told. As long as I get paid, that’s enough for me…though I wouldn’t mind getting paid more, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Both lieutenants relaxed. “Spoken like a true member of the Guard!” Helmuth laughed.

Ethel was less jovial. “Like someone who’s been through training of their own,” she agreed.

_Did Rolf tell them? Or do they know that Rolf’s been through the ghost camp, and they know we trained together? Or is it just that the camp left that much of a mark?_ He only grew angrier as he thought of all the recruits he’d seen that day. _They’re terrified, beaten down, bruised…all of them had some sort of physical injury, or moved in a way that tells me they’re hurt underneath their armor, even if they’re trying to hide it._ Kurt remembered that, too: knowing that showing pain would be considered a sign of weakness, that tears would only invite more beatings, that revealing a bruised rib or sprained ankle would only lead his instructors to target the injury during practice.

_I think it’s then that I stopped smiling._ He’d been a lighthearted child, fond of grinning and laughing and talking too loudly; all of that had come to an end in the ghost camp. By the time he’d left, he’d learned that keeping his face set in a permanent expression of sullen anger was the easiest way to keep people from assuming he was weak. _It kept me alive. Not safe, but alive._

_It isn’t right,_ he couldn’t help thinking as they cut through the barracks once more, re-emerging into the light. _These boys shouldn’t have to do the same. They shouldn’t have to go through any of this. This ends now._

De Sardet had claimed that she preferred to remain outside for the fresh air, and appeared to be doing exactly that, speaking with Siora in the sunlight far from either of the combat pits. Now, he saw her and started toward her, hoping that she had found enough evidence to bring the truth to light. _She’ll have done it, I’m sure. Wilhem will have talked to her, and I hope we’ll have the proof we need to put an end to this, once and for all._


	66. Wilhem's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief chapter, and mostly drawn directly from canon, to set up the second half of the mission.

Once Kurt had gone, de Sardet and Siora moved back to the pit where Wilhem was training. “Wilhem, we need to talk. Kurt will make sure your superior is out of the way.”

“But…why are you doing this?”

“We didn’t think you’d say anything as long as she was here.”

“If you’ve noticed, others will have too…they’ll make me pay.” Wilhem grew pale, and his hands trembled so badly that he could barely hold his sword.

“Even more reason to talk. If we had enough proof, we could take action and close this camp.”

Her words convinced him; he sighed and seemed to come to a decision. “Fine,” he said. “What do you need to know?”

He told them everything. _The camp’s instructors promised that it would be special training for the elite, but they did not reveal what they planned to put these poor recruits through._

“In reality, it’s just hell,” Wilhem said. “It’s more torture than anything else. We’re constantly beaten and humiliated, and the slightest complaint only leads to more blows.” He spoke of a culture of paranoia, where the recruits were forced to spy on one another, reporting transgressions for punishment. “Whatever the orders, we put our heads down, grit our teeth, and obey.”

De Sardet rocked back; she’d heard Kurt use the same expression more than once. _Did he go through this?_ She thought of the scars on his back. _From training, he said. If he suffered the same torments as these recruits…_

Siora reacted with similar horror. “We would never put our children through this!”

“I heard them tell you about the specialist training against the natives, in hostile environments,” said Wilhem. “But what they teach us would be more useful for assassins!”

“As for Reiner, do you know what happened to him?”

“Yes. One day, he just couldn’t stand it any longer. He disobeyed orders, fought back, and…people got hurt. That’s when things blew up. They summoned him for night training.”

“What does that entail?”

De Sardet could only listen with horror as Wilhem described a last-minute, late-night summons sent to the recruits, forcing them to fight their own friends: not an honorable combat, but a gang beating down a disobedient member. “If we refuse, we too become the targets, so we join in…and strike.” Guilt and sorrow crossed Wilhem’s features, and he looked down for a long moment before he lifted his head once more. “If you’re looking to punish Reiner’s murderer, you can start with me. We all have his blood on our hands.”

“Thank you,” de Sardet told him. “We should let you get back to your comrades.” She looked over her shoulder: she wasn’t sure how much longer Kurt would be gone, and she knew it would mean trouble for Reiner if Lieutenant Ethel saw him speaking with them. _I only hope his comrades will remain silent. I hope they will not tell._

“I hope you can do something,” said Reiner. His voice shook, and he sounded truly desperate as he looked to de Sardet. “Have this camp closed. Otherwise, I’ll soon be as dead as Reiner.”

“We understand the risk you’ve taken. We won’t let you down,” de Sardet promised, and meant it. _We have to protect him._ She thought of the anger in Kurt’s eyes, and his pain. _I won’t let Wilhem become another Reiner. We’ll find a way to protect all of these boys._

When Kurt reappeared, she wanted to run to him; instead, she waited for him to approach. “Thank you! Really! That was truly fascinating,” Kurt was saying to the lieutenants as they led him back toward the gate. “I’ve seen everything I needed to see. You can leave us.” He turned to de Sardet. “Shall we go?”

They left. None of them spoke until they had headed far enough down the trail to be both out of sight and earshot; once they were, de Sardet turned to Kurt, and saw that his demeanor had changed entirely. Instead of the calm, composed captain of the outpost, the one who had genially thanked the lieutenants for the tour, she saw a man who was being torn apart by anger and grief. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were filled with barely restrained fury.

_He looks as if he could dismantle that outpost with his bare hands._ She knew it would only grow worse once he knew the full extent of the truth, but she also knew she could not hide it from him.

“Kurt, Wilhem has spoken.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said the recruits go through hell. They’re humiliated, spy on each other, get bullied…it’s essentially torture. Reiner wouldn’t stand for it. He rebelled, and was summoned for night training.”

Kurt went very still and very pale. He was breathing so hard that de Sardet could see the rise and fall of his chest through his doublet. “Are you sure he used that term?”

“Yes, but he told me it’s not really training. The recruits are summoned—”

“—and the others beat them, sometimes to death. I know.” The pain in Kurt’s voice was reflected in his eyes, and he’d gotten very quiet.

“You knew about this kind of training?”

“Yeah. I thought it was a thing of the past.” Kurt brought a hand up to rub at one of his scars, and for a moment de Sardet imagined Kurt at Reiner’s age, surrounded by a half a dozen boys with swords, a blow slicing his face and leaving that scar. Her heart went out to him, and she couldn’t help but feel horrified that she had brought him to the camp.

_We had to come. We had to stop this,_ she thought, even as she saw the anger building in Kurt’s eyes once more.

“What a monster! How dare he!” he snarled. De Sardet wasn’t sure if he was speaking of Torsten, Rolf, or both, but she could see his pain intertwined with his anger.

Her heart went out to him. “I’m so sorry. I…I’m lost for words,” she admitted. _I hate feeling so helpless._

The rage faded from Kurt’s eyes as he looked to her, and for a moment, they were both silent, staring at each other. In that moment, part of her wanted only to gather him into his arms and reassure him that everything would be all right, that they would save Wilhem and bring Rolf and Torsten to justice, along with any of their allies. Part of her wanted to promise that she would do it herself, that he should not have to return to the camp that reminded him so much of his own pain, that she would do everything he would have done. _I want to protect him, but I know he would insist. Maybe it’s better this way. Perhaps by putting an end to this camp, it will help him put the past to rest._

She found her voice. “Tell me, did you learn anything new?” 

Kurt told her of the barracks layout, of needing to investigate Rolf’s quarters and the basement. As he did, he began to grow angrier again, and she caught him casting glances up the trail in the direction of the fort, as if he was going to go charging back.

Siora saw as well. “You’re full of anger, _cengots_. Take a deep breath and think. Then tell us your plan.”

Kurt did as she asked, then said, “Let’s wait for nightfall. We’ll sneak into the camp unseen, and search the barracks, the private quarters, and the basement.”

De Sardet thought of Wilhem. “We should also find out where this night training takes place.”

“Yes,” Kurt agreed. “I wouldn’t want any other recruits to lose their lives tonight. Especially not Wilhem.”

“If we do interrupt a night training, we should expect a fight,” said de Sardet. “Should we get the others?” She hoped Kurt would say yes; she knew it was a private matter for him, and clearly touched upon an immense source of pain, but she knew she would feel better with more companions by her side.

Kurt agreed. “Let’s get the others. We’ll need all the help we can get.”


	67. Captain Rolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that gets the heaviest warnings - between the descriptions of the torture chamber in the basement and Rolf's conversation with Kurt during their confrontation, this features some ugly content. Rolf makes very explicit references to childhood sexual abuse, to the point where I'm debating whether or not to tone down the scene.

Kurt’s anger simmered as they made their way back from the camp; part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around, find Rolf in his quarters, and beat him into submission. _I’d drag him back to New Serene in chains and let Sieglinde hang him._ But he knew that it was too dangerous to do alone, and that they needed enough evidence to bring Torsten down with him. _If we arrest him and take him back to New Serene, Torsten might throw him to the wolves to save his own skin…or he might protect him._ Kurt couldn’t bear the thought. _We have to do this the right way. We’ll save those boys and make sure Torsten, Rolf, and everyone involved with this damned camp pays for it._

As they made their way back, he knew that both Siora and de Sardet were watching him. “Mind the terrain,” he said. “We don’t want any beasts sneaking up on us.”

“We have killed any that were our way. I do not think we have any left to fear, _cengots_ ,” Siora replied.

When they got back to camp, Vasco, Aphra, and Petrus were waiting. “We did venture out to gather some herbs,” said Petrus, “but we had a rather unexpected encounter.”

“There was a merchant of the Bridge Alliance,” said Aphra. “Or perhaps a madman would be a better description. He was clearly an alchemist, with a wagon of his own…but when he saw us, he attacked, ranting and raving.”

“We were forced to kill him,” said Petrus. “But Lady Aphra did ransack his wagon for supplies.”

“He had a number of potions,” she said.

“Though I did make the argument that I doubt any of us would willingly take potions that seem to have been brewed by a madman,” Vasco said dryly; only then did he see the expressions on Siora, de Sardet, and Kurt’s faces. “You’re not smiling.”

“That camp is a terrible place,” Siora declared. “It is not a place of training. It is a place of bloodshed, where innocent children are tortured and killed.”

“It is everything we feared and more,” said de Sardet. “Most of these recruits are too terrified to speak, but we convinced one to tell us what was truly happening. He too was terrified, but had the courage to tell us the truth.”

She detailed everything; Kurt was glad. _I don’t think I could tell them._ Describing what was happening to those recruits would be akin to describing everything he had gone through.

“All they leave you with is your survival instinct,” said Vasco once she was done speaking. “Obey or die…it’s inhuman.”

“It reminds me of the Ordo Luminis’s interrogation methods. The poor buggers end up admitting to anything to all, accepting the unacceptable…” Petrus shook his head. “Their aims are the same. They wish to break their subjects.”

Aphra also looked troubled. “I’ve known scientists who performed these kinds of experiments on animals. The results are terrifying. Even the most gentle animal can become a killer.”

De Sardet glanced at Kurt, concerned, but before she could speak, Siora did. “These are not animals we are speaking of. They are children.”

“The oldest is perhaps eighteen,” de Sardet agreed. “The youngest, about fifteen. They are all fresh recruits.”

“Fresh recruits with combat experience,” Kurt managed. “They’ll have made sure they saw action first.” That had been something his own commanders had grumbled about, having to train children who’d never seen real fighting. _Gottfried used to say that he didn’t know how Hermann expected him to make elite soldiers from a group of kids who’d never killed anyone._ Apparently, Torsten had decided to remedy that in his second attempt at creating a ghost camp.

“Are we returning to New Serene to inform Governor d’Orsay?” asked Aphra.

“Not yet. After nightfall, we’re going to return to the camp to search for proof of Commander Torsten’s involvement,” de Sardet replied. “We need evidence to get this camp shut down, and to make sure that Commander Torsten himself is arrested. Our word will not be enough.”

Petrus nodded. “Such an allegation against the regional commander himself will certainly be explosive. Our proof must be ironclad.”

“We should prepare as best we can,” said Aphra. “If we are to sneak about this camp undetected, haze potions will certainly be necessary.”

“I have some, but if you think you have time to prepare more…”

Aphra nodded. “I’m sure I can make a few. Do you intend to have all of us accompany you?”

“I hoped you would,” said de Sardet.

“Are you certain, my child? For missions requiring stealth, generally fewer people are better.”

“Yes, but this camp is enormous,” de Sardet said. “We may have only a limited time to search. This way, we can split up, if need be.” She paused. “Also, it seems that the recruits are subjected to night training as punishment.”

“It is not training,” said Siora. “They are summoned to a place outside the camp where they are beaten to death as punishment for having resisted.”

“It’s how Reiner died,” Kurt managed. “He wouldn’t put up with everything that was going on, and they killed him for it.”

“Kurt,” said Vasco, clearly sympathetic, “I’m sorry for that.”

“If I’d known…” Kurt’s voice trailed off; anger filled him, and his hands clenched into fists. “Rolf’s going to pay for this.”

“Rolf?”

“The camp commander,” de Sardet explained. “He and Kurt know one another.”

“We trained together,” Kurt said shortly.

Vasco raised an eyebrow. “Old barrack rivalries?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt said shortly. “Excuse me.” Anger was surging through his veins, the memory of having seen Rolf standing in the middle of that camp, smirking at him as he’d greeted him, speaking of having known him. He thought of the years of competition, of Rolf’s smirking face, of striving to be better…and then of seeing him again, years later, in the Green-Azure, hearing him speak of their training as if it was something to be proud of. _I should have known then. If he was like anyone else, he’d have kept his mouth shut. No one else wanted to speak about what happened to us._

Behind him, he could hear Siora and de Sardet speaking with Vasco and the others in low tones, undoubtedly explaining more about what they had seen. He couldn’t stay to listen; instead, he moved off, heading down one of the narrow rock passageways to another place where the ravine opened.

He paced back and forth, feeling like a caged animal. _I should be doing something. I need to be doing something. Anything._ They had killed a pack of wild _ulg_ on the way in, and their bodies still littered the floor of the ravine; he considered returning to camp for a knife to skin them, knowing their leather was worth a few coins, but didn’t want to go back to face Aphra, Petrus, Vasco, and all their questions. But alone in the stone clearing, pacing back and forth, he had nothing to dwell on except what he’d seen in that camp. _Rolf. Those boys, all of them terrified. Wilhem, angry and bitter about what he’d been through, but still willing to risk his life to tell us the truth._ He’d heard the guilt in Wilhem’s voice as he’d spoken of Reiner, and that brought to mind his own memories of night training. _Why isn’t it night? I’d tear that camp down with my bare hands if I could. I’d go there now and kill Rolf._ He imagined himself snapping Rolf’s neck, burying his sword in his midsection, taking his head from his shoulders with one hard blow. _He’s a monster. How could he put those boys through everything we went through?_

_Is he putting them through everything?_ A chill ran down his spine as he thought of Hermann. _Rolf always looked up to him. Even when we were in the Green-Azure, he’d speak like he thought Hermann was a hero, the way everyone else claimed he was. I thought he was doing it to keep others from suspecting, but what if it’s more than that? What if he believed in what he was saying? What if he’s taken after Hermann in other ways…the worst ways?_ That only made him want to kill Rolf anew. _If I learn he’s done anything like that, he won’t live to make it back to New Serene. If I learn he did anything like that to Reiner…_

Unable to contain his emotions, he let out a cry that combined anguish and anger, a shout that echoed into the sky. He lashed out, punching the stone wall, and felt the pain reverberate up his fist and arm.

And then he heard de Sardet’s voice from behind him. “Kurt,” she said. “Kurt, stop it. Please.” She was at his side then, taking his arm, looking at his hand. “You’re hurt.”

He felt like an idiot. “I…”

“Here,” she said, and offered him a healing potion. That made him feel even more ashamed. “Take it.”

“I shouldn’t. It’s my own fault.”

“You’ll need to be at your best tonight,” she said, ignoring his words entirely. “If that doesn’t take care of it, Siora can heal you when we’ve returned to camp.”

Kurt downed the potion, feeling the pain in his hand fading as he did so. _At least I didn’t break any bones._ His gauntlets had protected him from his own stupidity. “I’m sorry,” he began, but de Sardet shook her head; as she did, he saw there were tears in her eyes.

“It isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault,” she said, then paused. “This training…this camp…it isn’t the first time the Coin Guard has made something like this. When you heard me speak of night training, you knew what it was…you said that you thought it was a thing of the past.” She bit down on her lip, then looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “You knew because it was a part of your past.”

It was a question, and it wasn’t; he knew that she knew the answer. _She knew as soon as I spoke of it. My anger must have given me away._ Kurt wanted to deny it, but wouldn’t. _I couldn’t lie to her._

Slowly, he nodded. “You’ve heard me speak of training,” he began slowly. “This isn’t the first time the Coin Guard’s tried to create a camp for elite soldiers. But the last time they did it, they started younger…with boys who hadn’t seen combat, who were fresh from schooling and basic training, who they thought would be more easily shaped.”

“But the methods Wilhem spoke of…the specifics of the training…that hasn’t changed,” de Sardet said. “Has it?”

Kurt could hear the hope in her voice, knew she wanted him to deny it. He could also see the pain in her eyes, and knew that she already knew the truth. “No,” he said heavily. “No, it hasn’t. The fear I saw in those boys’ eyes, the exhaustion…I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew what you’d hear as soon as we started questioning them.”

“Their talk of beatings…of night trainings…”

Slowly, Kurt nodded. “It’s true. All of it.”

“Kurt…” As always, de Sardet was nothing but compassionate. “I’m so sorry. It must have been so difficult for you.”

“Not as difficult as it is for those boys now,” he said, then regretted it immediately. “I’m sorry, Green Blood. I don’t mean to snarl.”

“You aren’t,” she reassured him. She looked down at his hand. “Can you take that off?”

He pulled off the gauntlet; the skin across his knuckles was broken and bloody, though the healing potion had stopped the bleeding and helped mend the wound, leaving only a smear of blood across tattered skin. De Sardet gently took his hand, examining it, and only then did he realize she wasn’t wearing her own gloves: her hand was soft and warm.

“Siora should look at this,” she said. “She’ll fix what the potion couldn’t.”

“We’ll need more potions than what we have, to help the rest of those recruits. They’ll have worse wounds than this.”

“Still, I want you to see her. We may end up having to fight, and I don’t want you to be injured.” Her hand closed around his, their fingers intertwining, and suddenly the gentle examination felt very different. “We will save those recruits. We will bring Rolf and the others responsible for this to justice. No one else will be harmed, not if I can help it. I promise you that.”

He nodded. “I know that it will feel like a very long time until night falls, but please…come back to camp. Let Siora look at your hand. Eat something.”

The worry in her eyes made him agree, though he couldn’t help but avert his gaze from the others as they returned to the campsite. _They had to have heard. That must have been why Green Blood came to find me._

Siora made her way to his side immediately, examining his hand. “Save your anger, _cengots_ ,” she told him. “Do not hurt yourself. Hurt those who did this to those boys.” She put a hand over his bloodied one, murmuring something, and the healing magic made the flesh heal instantaneously.

“That’s amazing,” he said. “Thank you, pretty flower.”

“I know what it is to be angry, and to feel powerless. I felt the same way when the lions took people from my village…those I cared for deeply. But this will not help. Save your anger, and your strength, and use them to save your recruits.” 

As Siora went off to help de Sardet and Aphra brew their haze potions, Vasco settled down next to him, offering a bowl of stew. “I know I’m not the best at cooking, but I’ve served my time in a ship’s galley. It’s not as good as anything that you or Siora would make, but it should be edible.”

“Well, it’s hard to make an inedible stew,” he told Vasco. “You throw the ingredients in the pot and let them simmer.” He took a taste. “But it seems you’ve tried.”

“It could be worse,” said Vasco. “I could have let Father Petrus do the cooking. I don’t think he’s ever had to make his own meals in his life, let alone cooking rations from a wagon over a campfire.”

Kurt ate while Vasco spoke.

“It’s not easy to learn that your people have done something you don’t agree with,” Vasco told him. “I know that the Coin Guard’s practices aren’t always the kindest. I know I don’t always agree with my people’s way of training cabin boys.”

“Whatever your people have come up with, this is worse.”

“And some old rivalry can’t help things. This Rolf, the camp commander…you go back a long way.”

“We’re not friends,” said Kurt.

“The Coin Guard and the Nauts both say our comrades are our family,” Vasco began. “Even if he’s not a friend—”

“We’ve fought together, but I don’t know that I’d call him my brother-in-arms. The Guard might want to say that we’re comrades, but I wouldn’t have chosen to fight alongside him if I could have avoided it. I’ve never trusted him.”

“Knowing someone for a long time doesn’t necessarily make them a friend,” Aphra interrupted, having overheard. “I understand.” 

To Kurt’s surprise, he thought she did: he doubted Vasco had ever made an enemy among his own people the way that Rolf had become his. _The Bridger, though…she’s not one for making friends._

“Sometimes, the more you know of someone, the more utterly despicable you find them,” said Aphra. “There are certainly people I’ve worked with who I feel that way about. What about you, Father?”

Petrus looked up from where he was serving himself his own bowl of stew. “There are those I have known for a very long time who are not at all my friends,” he agreed. “Aloysius, for one. We came to the island on the very same vessel. We have known each other for a very long time. And yet, we will never be friends; we are simply too different.”

“This Rolf…what do you think of him?” Aphra asked.

“I think he’s a treacherous snake,” Kurt replied. “I hoped I’d never see him again. But to find out that he’s behind all this—” Kurt’s fist clenched around his spoon. “I don’t know how he can do it. Reiner’s dead, and countless other boys. How can he live with himself?”

Somehow, he managed to finish the meal; by then, he was glad to see that twilight was falling, the sky fading to soft shades of deep blue.

“These people’s methods are despicable, but we can’t just charge into the fray,” said Petrus. “Innocent people could get hurt.”

“Including those recruits. I don’t want any of them to be hurt.”

“That is a noble sentiment, my son, but it may not be possible.”

“We’ll do everything in our power,” de Sardet said before Kurt could object.

“We can’t just barge in and hope they give up,” Vasco agreed. “What’s your plan?” As they crept toward the camp, de Sardet provided him with an answer once more, detailing the plan: sneaking into Rolf’s quarters, then the basement, before finding where the night training sessions were held, so they could put an end to them.

They snuck into the camp together; fortunately, there were no sentinels at the gates, and the camp was absolutely still. That sent another shiver down Kurt’s spine. _The only nights when the camp is this quiet is when the recruits aren’t in the camp…whether outside on exercises, or called away to the combat pits for a session of night training._ Given Wilhem’s willingness to help, and his fear at being observed, Kurt had the sinking feeling he knew which it was. _Which is why we have to find him._ “Let’s find Rolf’s office. He’ll surely have a key to the basement,” he said. He, de Sardet, and Petrus went up to Rolf’s quarters, leaving Aphra, Siora, and Vasco to search the ground floor.

The letters he found there shocked him. First, and terrible enough in its own right, was one from Torsten to Rolf complimenting him on the quality of his recruits, a sinister letter letting him know that they were stationed near the governors. Kurt saw the fear in de Sardet’s eyes as she spoke. “This letter is disturbing, Kurt. It confirms that several deaths have been disguised in order to keep this camp secret. But it says that the recruits trained here have been assigned to governors from different cities. And yet I’m sure that Constantin knows nothing about these elite units. The conclusion of the letter also confirms that the commander was pleased with what’s going on here.”

“So Torsten knew!”

“So it seems…including about the deaths.”

“He’s gone too far. He dishonors us all! Sieglinde was right.” De Sardet extended the letter to him, and he read it for himself.

 _Congratulations,_ Torsten began. Kurt read on with increasing disgust, hating himself for having been deceived by the commander. _How could I ever have believed he was an honorable man?_ Worst of all was when he reached a line a few sentences in. _Major Hermann informs me you have suffered some casualties…_

“Hermann,” he breathed. “Hermann is here on the island?”

Petrus looked at him strangely. “My child, Major Hermann is the commander of the Red Sun Regiment on Teer Fradee. You were not aware?”

“No,” Kurt managed. It was his worst nightmares all come to life. _I thought Hermann was back on the continent. I thought he had nothing to do with this camp. But he’s here._

It was even worse when he found another letter, this one from Hermann to Rolf. Holding the letter in his hands made him want to be sick; he couldn’t help but think of Hermann’s hands touching the paper, etching out his elegant scrawl. His handwriting was spindly and looping, a far cry from Kurt’s own thick, blunt hand.

The letter was full of praise for Rolf. _I would not have expected anything less from one of my best students. I made sure the commander knew what a good job you did. I have no doubt he will know how to reward you. You too will be Major soon…_

“Kurt,” de Sardet said, drawing him out of the letter, “you’re shaking.” She was right: his hands were trembling.

“Are you all right, my son?”

Kurt forced himself to breathe. “Fine,” he got out, though he could see de Sardet exchanging a look of doubt with Petrus even as he mustered the word. “It’s just…there’s another name I hadn’t seen in a very long time…someone from the continent…from the last ghost camp. When Major Hermann was still a captain, he ran a training camp very much like this one. It was a long time ago. A very long time ago.”

“We’ll gather all these papers,” said Petrus; he had an entire bundle. “Together, this should be enough to place Commander Torsten, Captain Rolf, and all their allies under arrest.”

Downstairs, the others hadn’t found nearly as much; they proceeded to the basement, to the locked door that Kurt had not been able to pass on his first visit.

He had hoped that he was wrong, and that he would find only the sacks of flour or the guns and ammunition the lieutenants had promised, but the truth became evident immediately upon opening the door. The smell struck them first, an overwhelming scent of blood and feces; only then did they see the bodies stacked like firewood against one wall. One cell had only rough straw that reeked of urine, along with manacles that were attached to the wall. Kurt rubbed at his wrist again, remembering what it was like to be enclosed in darkness for so long that day and night became meaningless. Another cell was clearly a torture chamber, with an X-shaped wooden cross, chains, and spatters of dried blood still caked on the cross itself and the floor beneath it, as well as on the torture instruments on a nearby table.

“This room,” de Sardet breathed; a hand went to her mouth as she saw the bodies on the floor. “What could have happened in here?”

“I know this smell all too well,” Kurt said grimly. “Fear. Blood. Death.”

“The Ordo Luminis would surely envy such a place if they knew it existed,” Petrus said, looking around at the torture chamber.

Looking at the cross, the implements of torture, and the bloodstains on the floor only brought back more memories, even before he found a parchment that spoke of how the recruits who could not deal with the sleep deprivation and ordinary torments of training had been sent to the torture chambers for punishment. The lieutenant’s report spoke casually of the recruits having suffered a casualty, but that they considered an exercise a success, since it had toughened up the survivors.

_Which of these poor boys was the one who they’re speaking of?_ Kurt wondered, looking at the bodies. _What do they do with them? Send them back to San Matheus or Hikmet or New Serene, one by one, and claim they fell in the harbor? Wait until they can claim they died in a routine patrol? And in the meantime, their bodies serve to scare the others._

Vasco was staring down at the bodies with a look of shock. “And to think I complained about the Nauts’ training practices were bad,” he murmured. “But this…this is horrific, Kurt!”

“These people have turned this place into a site of suffering,” Siora agreed, staring with shock at the dead bodies. “It will take years to erase its traces.”

“The recruits who survived their training here will never forget,” de Sardet said, and Kurt realized that she was looking at him with concern.

_Don’t think about it. Not now._ Kurt’s heart was racing, and he realized that he was breathing hard, remembering. Learning about Hermann’s involvement had been a shock, but seeing his torture chamber re-created was nearly as bad. _He can’t hurt you now. You’ll make him pay for this…him, Rolf, those lieutenants, Torsten, and anyone else who knew about this._ He forced himself to take a deep breath, then another.

They found a training log. “They torture the soldiers in order to break them,” said de Sardet. “Reiner shows up on this list more than once.” She set the list down with a slight shake of her head. “He gave them a lot of problems.”

“Those who resist too much are lynched during night training.” Kurt ground his teeth. “Rolf, you’ll pay for this!”

“Kurt,” de Sardet said, distressed. “Wilhem’s name was added to tonight’s training.”

“The boy will pay the ultimate price for having helped us,” said Vasco.

Kurt’s reaction was immediate. “We can’t let them kill him; we have to stop this training immediately!”

Aphra and Petrus both protested, pointing out the potential for ambush, but Kurt knew there was no choice. He looked de Sardet in the eyes, pleading with her. “If this boy dies because of us, I will never forgive myself.”

“Neither will I,” she murmured.

Fortunately, the note included directions to the place where the recruits fought. “Let’s go,” he said, and sprinted up from the basement, taking the steps two at a time. De Sardet and the others followed, though Petrus and Aphra soon lagged behind: Petrus’s age and heavy armor meant that he was not as adept a sprinter, and Aphra’s shorter legs gave her no advantages.

They moved out the northern gate; as soon as they were outside, Kurt could hear the sounds of fighting, steel against steel. _Don’t let us be too late,_ he thought.

The combat pit was downhill from the path, and the recruits soon came into view. “Despite what Wilhem told me, I wasn’t expecting this,” de Sardet breathed. “He’s getting destroyed!”

Kurt paused, throwing out an arm to stop de Sardet. “I refuse to let these recruits pay for the bastards who manipulated them. Let’s avoid spilling blood in vain.” 

“You’re a good captain, Kurt, but I hope you understand that they won’t hold back on us,” said Vasco.

“They’re just kids. There has to be a way to reason with them.”

“We’ll do our best, Kurt, I promise,” said de Sardet. Without hesitating, she jumped down into the pit, drawing the recruits’ attention. Kurt followed, unsheathing his sword. “Stop!” she shouted. “We won’t let you kill this boy like you killed Reiner.”

“Soldiers,” said Kurt, “do you realize what you’re doing?”

Lieutenant Ethel tried to rally her own men, shouting, “Soldiers! To arms!”

But the boys exchanged glances, looking uncertain, and de Sardet took advantage of their uncertainty. “My master-at-arms was a member of the Guard, and he always told me, ‘fight with honor!’ What honor is there in lynching one of your own when he’s defenseless? What honor is there in being forced to kill one another the moment one of you refuses to toe the line?”

“None,” one of the boys they’d questioned earlier that day spoke up. Guilt filled his face, and the way he refused to look at them reminded Kurt of Jurgen, all those years ago. “We followed orders…nothing more…”

“Do you know what happens to those who die in this regiment?” de Sardet asked, seeing him wavering. “Their bodies are thrown out like those of rabid animals! If you die here, you’ll die without glory. No one will ever know what happened to you! I doubt that’s what they promised you when you joined the Guard!”

“No…no, of course not,” the recruit stammered.

“Good soldiers don’t fight for glory,” Lieutenant Ethel scoffed. “They fight to be the best.”

“Really?” Kurt scoffed. “Then the Guard really has changed.” He looked around at all the recruits, meeting the eyes of those who would look at him. “Did you recruits leave your families to end up lynched and thrown into a ditch?”

“No,” said the boldest of the recruits. “You’re right, Captain! We never should have ended up here.” 

“You’ve been manipulated,” Kurt spoke up. “But it’s not too late to refuse all of this! To act with honor!”

“You’re right, Captain!” The recruit summoned his courage, looking to Ethel. “It’s over, Lieutenant. We will no longer beat our own!”

“Traitors! Imbeciles!”

Surrounded by uncooperative recruits, Ethel unsheathed her sword and attacked. Kurt charged forward, wanting to handle her himself. _This is Guard business,_ he thought. _I should be the one to take care of this._

He handled her easily; Ethel was apparently used to beating helpless recruits who couldn’t fight back, not handling a combat-experienced captain. He’d hoped to take her alive, but it soon became clear that he had no choice: she fought wildly and viciously, trying to strike at his unprotected neck, his knees, his head. He pivoted out of the way of her strikes, only to see the moment for a perfect cut of his own, and a moment later the lieutenant was dead in the dirt.

Kurt cleaned his sword on her tunic and sheathed it, only to see the recruits staring at him. De Sardet and Vasco were watching as well; Vasco had unholstered his pistol, but hadn’t fired it. “Thank you for that,” Kurt said, nodding at the gun.

“I thought you’d rather do it yourself,” Vasco replied. “Besides, I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

Kurt snorted in amusement and looked to de Sardet, who was helping Wilhem drink a healing potion. “Will you be all right?” she was asking him.

“I’m wounded, but I’ll survive, thanks to you!” Wilhem was clutching at his side, where his doublet showed a dark and spreading bloodstain. “I’m eternally grateful!”

The recruit who’d spoken out put an arm around his shoulders. “Come, Wilhem, we’ll help you get home,” he said, his voice still laden with guilt. “We owe you that, at least.”

Kurt looked the boy in the eyes. “I’m counting on you to bring him back to the camp in one piece!” he told him, in a tone halfway between a request and an order.

“We will, sir, I promise you that.”

Wilhem looked up at them hopefully. “You’re really going to put an end to this, aren’t you? You’re going to stop Captain Rolf and Lieutenant Helmuth, the way you did Lieutenant Ethel?”

Kurt felt an ache in his chest as he heard the note of disbelief mingled with hope in Wilhem’s voice. _It’s the same way I would have felt if anyone had saved me from my own night training…the way I did feel when they shut down that damned camp._ The difference was, he had believed he’d owed his gratitude to Torsten, not knowing that he’d been involved the entire time.

“Yes,” he said, and felt another surge of anger toward Torsten, Rolf, and all those involved in the camp’s creation. _I was too late for Reiner, but I’ve saved this boy, and all those who would have come after._ “This ends tonight.”

De Sardet was speaking to the others: Aphra and Petrus had finally caught up with the group, but Petrus was breathing heavily, and Aphra looked winded.

“Siora,” said de Sardet, “Wilhem is wounded. Can you see to his injuries?”

“Yes, _carants_.”

“It might be best if you and Father Petrus stay here,” de Sardet told Aphra. “Help them bring Wilhem back to the camp. If we’re going to avoid casualties among the recruits, I suspect that stealth will be of more use than firepower.”

Aphra nodded. “I’d agree. I do have a few haze potions on me,” she said.

“As do I.”

“Take mine anyway,” Aphra said, pressing a few vials into de Sardet’s hand. “I can always make more later.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Vasco. “Two of you might not be enough if it does come to blows; after all, even if you can talk the recruits out of helping them, I doubt Rolf and his lieutenant will surrender.”

Kurt nodded. “Well, then, let’s go! We can’t let this vermin Rolf escape us!”

He started to rush back to the camp, but de Sardet stopped him. “Slowly,” she told him. “I know that you want to face Rolf, but you’ll tire yourself out before we get there. You’ve already fought one battle tonight.”

“Yes, and if something goes wrong, you’ll have to cut your way through more than just Rolf,” said Vasco.

“We have to do everything we can to avoid casualties,” said Kurt as they made their way back into the camp.

“And we will,” de Sardet promised him as they slipped into the barracks. “We will do everything we can to keep the recruits from seeing us.”

“I’ll wager that Rolf will be in the fighting pit at the back of the camp,” said Kurt. “There was more than one name on that roster for tonight’s night training, but Wilhem was the only recruit getting hurt at the pit out in the wilderness. They’re likely using that big pit at the back of the camp for the other soldiers.”

“The ones they intended to survive?” Vasco asked. Kurt couldn’t answer that; he was certain that Rolf had intended to kill Wilhem to make an example of him for talking, but he wasn’t sure about the other names he’d read on the list.

 _Sometimes the boys who died ended up dead because someone went too far, but other times it was because someone wanted them dead._ The first night training Kurt had ever attended had been for a boy who had tried to speak out against Hermann, and been executed for his pains. _Hermann had us beat him to death, to show everyone what would happen if we tried speaking out…and I’m sure Rolf made sure Reiner didn’t survive his night training, to show the others what would happen if they fought back._

That thought filled him with anger as de Sardet pressed a haze potion into his palm. “Drink this,” she whispered.

He did, and then they crept out into the area behind the barracks. The sounds of combat filtered from the pit, and the boys who were on patrol listened with expressions of mingled guilt and relief. _Guilt, that they’re here and doing nothing…and relief that they don’t have to participate, at least not directly._ Kurt wondered if Rolf was expecting them, or if he regularly stationed a few recruits on patrol. _It might be his way of sparing his favorites…a reward. Or he might have suspected I wouldn’t let this go so easily._

Either way, he, de Sardet, and Vasco crept carefully to the combat pit, sneaking their way past the recruits on patrol. “Nobody saw us,” Kurt whispered once they’d snuck past; he helped de Sardet onto the narrow ledge that led to the combat pit. “All we have to do is ambush them in the pit.”

As they approached, Kurt saw Rolf and Lieutenant Helmuth were standing on the opposite side of the combat pit, watching the other squadron batter a recruit with their swords. He knew then that an ambush would be impossible; there was no way to get to Rolf and Helmuth without crossing the pit, and no way to do that without drawing the recruits’ attention, even with haze potions.

Instead, he stepped forward as the last specks of blue and red faded from his vision, the haze potion wearing off. Putting his anger into his voice, he shouted, “Rolf, you bastard, how could you be a part of this disgrace?”

“You know this is how the best soldiers are made!” Rolf looked down into the pit. “Soldiers, grab your weapons! Death to these traitors!”

As she had before, de Sardet jumped down into the combat pit without hesitation; Kurt followed her, with Vasco just behind. The recruits in the pit stopped fighting as they approached, and Kurt saw relief wash over the face of the boy who’d been getting beaten. The other recruits stared uncertainly at them, and Kurt saw one boy nervously looking at his sword.

He raised his hands, keeping them far away from his weapon. “Stop! Soldiers, are you really going to obey these scoundrels? Do I need to remind you of the Guard’s motto? Where is your honor?”

“I won’t repeat myself, recruits,” Helmuth growled. “Execute these traitors!”

De Sardet advanced, adding her voice to his. “Soldiers, listen to your captain! You are the victims of these monsters, and we are here to save you! We’re doing our best to avoid a fight, to spare your lives!”

One of the older boys looked at her in disbelief. “Well, what do you want us to do? We have orders! And we know what will happen to us if we don’t obey!”

Plenty of the other recruits were exchanging uncertain glances. Helmuth saw it, too: the lieutenant folded his arms across his chest and warned, “Enough! To arms, attack!”

But the recruits hesitated, and de Sardet took advantage of that hesitation to speak. “Must I remind you of what happened to Reiner?” she asked.

“And however many others perished to fuel the ambitions of this camp’s leader,” Kurt added, looking up at Rolf. Rolf glowered back at him, but didn’t speak.

“Is this what was promised when you were recruited?” de Sardet asked the recruits.

“No!” the boy who’d spoken earlier said. “No…honor and glory…we’ve strayed far from all that…”

“All this bullying and humiliation is intended to turn you into weapons, not soldiers,” she told them. “And when a weapon is no longer needed, its owner throws it away rather than risk injury. That’s why Reiner was disposed of!”

“Being a soldier doesn’t mean being a puppet,” Kurt added. “Put your weapons down!”

“Let’s surrender!” one of the recruits said.

Another nodded. “Anything is better than dying here like dogs!”

But most of the squadron was still looking to the oldest boy, the one who’d spoken first.

That boy nodded. “They’re right, mates,” he said, looking around. Kurt thought he must have been the de facto squadron leader, the one his peers looked to.

 _The way I was, and Rolf, back when we were in the Storm and Strife. The way I suspect Wilhem is, in his own squadron. The lieutenants were the ones we were supposed to obey, but we all knew they didn’t look out for us._ Kurt had tried his best to look out for his own squadron, while Rolf had obtained his own power by currying favor with Hermann and his lieutenants, and by bullying his peers by virtue of that power. _We were the best, the strongest, the most talented…_

He was drawn from his reverie by the sight of the recruits sheathing their weapons as that boy declared, “I don’t want to end up in the harbor!”

His peers nodded, and in that moment, Kurt knew they’d won. _He’s lost them,_ he thought, looking up at Rolf. Rolf’s face was filled with stunned dismay, while the lieutenant next to him was still shaking his head in disbelief.

“What do you think, soldier?” Helmuth demanded. “You think we can trust them?”

“It’s over, lieutenant!” Kurt told him. “These recruits won’t do your dirty work for you any more!”

Lieutenant Helmuth couldn’t seem to accept that. “How dare you?” he shouted down at the recruits. “You know what awaits you!”

Kurt looked up at him. “Shut up, you idiot! You’re no longer in a position to threaten anyone.”

Rolf’s lip curled back in disgust. “Congratulations, Lieutenant, you’ve trained cowards,” he sneered, looking to his lieutenant.

“Their training wasn’t finished, Captain…and their speeches were so convincing…”

“Silence! Where is the second squadron? They should’ve been here a long time ago!”

The satisfaction shone in Kurt’s eyes as he said, “They’re not coming, Rolf.”

“They surrendered, too!” de Sardet chimed in. “It would appear that your training methods aren’t very effective!”

Kurt reached for his sword. “Now that you no longer have lackeys to send against us, Rolf, you’ll have to get your own hands dirty!”

Rolf grinned. “I’ve dreamt of shutting that big mouth of yours up for so long!” He shoved Helmuth toward the pit. “You take the other two. I’ll handle that bastard.”

Helmuth looked frightened. “What?” Vasco taunted him. “Have you spent so long torturing innocent children that you’ve forgotten how to fight?”

 _He’ll look after her,_ Kurt told himself as Rolf leapt into the pit. _Besides, Green Blood can hold her own in a fight._ His focus was all for Rolf.

“How could you do this?” Kurt demanded as Rolf took a swing at him; like Kurt, he brandished the two-handed _zweihander_ that was standard-issue for the Coin Guard. “After all that we went through—”

“It made us better men!” Steel clashed against steel as Kurt blocked Rolf’s swing, and he pivoted away. “Better soldiers. You can’t tell me that you don’t learn what we used in that camp.”

“We didn’t have to learn it that way.”

“It forged us into soldiers. Fighters. At least, those of us who were tough enough.” Rolf circled him, looking for an opening, and suddenly Kurt felt as if he was twelve years old again, in a combat pit in Gacane, with Captain Hermann and Lieutenant Gottfried standing over them, watching.

Rolf feinted, and Kurt stepped away, and it felt exactly as it had more than half a lifetime ago. “You were always soft,” Rolf taunted him. “You and that friend of yours – what was his name? The one who took the coward’s way out.”

“Hans wasn’t a coward,” Kurt snarled, and lunged forward, only to realize a moment into the thrust that Rolf was baiting him. Rolf moved out of the way and tried a counterattack, and Kurt moved out of the way, though not quite in time: he felt the cut of Rolf’s blade against his arm, and knew that he’d drawn first blood. _That was stupid,_ he told himself. _Don’t be stupid, or you’ll be dead soon enough._

It was only a scratch, barely worth noticing, but Rolf took it as a triumph: he bared his teeth in a feral grin. “You’re a sap, Kurt, just like I told you! Then again, you always have been, haven’t you? A sentimental fool. Just look at you, following that legate like a little lost puppy. I’ve heard things. She’s the one you trained, isn’t she? Her and that pathetic excuse for a governor? You look like you’re soft on her…or is it that she gets you hard? I wouldn’t call her a looker, but I never did understand your tastes. What was the name of that girl I took from you, back in the Green-Azure?”

Kurt knew that Rolf knew it, and wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. When he wouldn't speak, Rolf supplied the name anyway. “Inge, that was it. Never did understand what you saw in her. Thought she might be a good fuck, but she wasn’t much. She told me some things about you, though. How you’d go soft if she tried to suck you off, the way you lost it when she tried…she said you cried like a little boy, begged her to stop.” Rolf’s eyes were hard and cruel as he said, “Well, some things never change, do they?”

“You know, she’s here too. Worships the ground our superiors walk on, all of them: Commander Torsten, of course, but Major Ermengarde in the Green-Azure, Hermann in the Red Sun…”

Rolf had flung out the name hoping to unbalance him, Kurt knew, but he wouldn’t let it; as Rolf feinted and lunged, he was ready, and this time, he was the one who saw a red stain blossoming on Rolf’s arm. _Not good enough,_ he told himself; the wound looked minor, similar to the one Rolf had inflicted on him.

Rolf grunted in pain, and Kurt took the moment to ask his own questions. “How can you work with him now? I saw Hermann’s letters to you. I saw his praise. How can you want that? How could you follow in his footsteps?” He pressed his attack; moving forward, he began to drive Rolf back, with a swing that would stun him if he connected. “How can you work with him now?”

“Kurt,” Rolf said, dodging out of the way; his arm slowed him, but not enough to allow Kurt to put an end to the fight. “We may not agree with everything that Hermann did, but his training worked! Look at how high we’ve risen because of him.” 

“In spite of him,” Kurt growled, following Rolf.

“He looked after us. You know he only did that for his favorites.”

“He would have had me killed.”

“Because you were a fool! You knew what would happen.”

“I did,” Kurt agreed. “I did, and I decided it would be better to die than suffer through another night of hell. How could you put these boys through that? How could you torture them? My Reiner, the poor kid—”

“If I’d known he was one of yours, I’d have told the commander to keep him in New Serene. I should have known. He had a mouth like yours, and all the talk of ‘honor’ and ‘morals’ and ‘being true to the Guard’s ideals.’ We are the Guard! When has ‘honor’ or ‘glory’ ever gotten us a damn thing? Torsten, Hermann – they may not be honorable men, but they’ve promised a future here that they’ll deliver, and I’ll follow them so long as they can give me that.” 

“How far did you go?” Kurt demanded. “If you don’t give a damn about your honor, if you talk about following Hermann, what have you been doing to your recruits here?”

Rolf laughed, but Kurt caught a flash of another emotion in the other man’s eyes: a touch of anger of his own, mingled with the memory of shame and humiliation. _He hasn’t,_ Kurt knew then. _He’ll say whatever he can to keep me off-balance._ Rolf remembered those sparring sessions as well: he knew that Kurt had the advantages of strength and reach, and he needed to counter with advantages of his own. _He always did better when he made me too angry to think. When I reacted, instead of using any sort of strategy._ So instead of advancing, Kurt took a step back, regrouping.

Rolf saw it, and changed his own strategy: he flipped his sword, swinging it like a poleaxe, and tried to put Kurt on the defensive. “What about you, Kurt? Did you take after our noble captain’s example? You’re fond of that legate of yours, and you’ve had her under your wing for…how long, now? Fifteen years? She would’ve been about the same age we were when Hermann trained us. Plenty of time for you to teach her how to polish your sword.”

Rolf took one hand from his sword to make an obscene pumping gesture, and Kurt’s fury was enough that, despite everything, he very nearly charged. Only the thought that Rolf was trying to bait him kept him from doing something very stupid, and he brought his own _zweihander_ up to block as Rolf kept up his barrage of insults and innuendo. “You always did have a two-hander, I’ll give you that. Must have been why Hermann liked you so much. Big man.” He punctuated each insult with an attempt at a blow. “What about you? Did you visit her bed at night? Teach her how to suck your cock? What about that governor cousin of hers? He’s a handsome fellow. Did you have her practice on him? Everyone says they’re close. How close were they, exactly?”

“Fuck off,” Kurt snarled. The insults to him had been bad enough, but the suggestion that he could hurt either of his young charges had infuriated him beyond measure, and the insult to Alexandra de Sardet was more than he could bear. He saw red, and Rolf grinned.

“Did you take them both? I know you always said you preferred women, but when they’re that young, there’s not that much of a difference, is there? I think I would’ve gotten off on that, having the noble son of the Prince d’Orsay himself suck me off at night, make him gag a little, the way we always did when Hermann shoved it down our throats. You’d get off on it too, wouldn’t you? Just like he always did.”

“You disgust me,” Kurt growled. “How you can suggest it—”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You accused me first.” Rolf took a swing of his own then, a little wild, and the suddenness of the attack nearly caught Kurt by surprise.

He caught Rolf’s sword on his own and said, “You tortured them – and if you fought back, you murdered them, just like Hermann. What was I supposed to think?”

Kurt threw Rolf back; as Rolf staggered backwards, he advanced. “And you’re working with him. Taking his praise, his pay, running this camp for him. Even now, you’re praising him, saying that he made us better soldiers – but he didn’t.” Kurt could have pressed forward, but he relented, knowing he needed to calm himself; attacking in a blind rage would only get him killed. He remembered de Sardet’s look of concern outside the camp that afternoon, Siora’s compassion as she’d implored him to breathe, Vasco asking him for a plan. _Don’t let him bait you into a trap. You’re not an animal._

“He tried to break us,” Kurt said, circling. “He tried to make us into monsters. I wouldn’t let him, and he nearly killed me for it.” He took a deep breath, feeling the stabbing pain in his arm, watching the blood soaking through Rolf’s sleeve, his wound a mirror image of Kurt’s own. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Rolf. He’s tried to make you into a monster, but you can stop. Tell us what he’s planning. Help us stop this. Do something to regain your honor.”

For a moment, he thought he saw Rolf waver: he saw the anguish and the pain that lay behind the cruel taunts, the self-loathing that warred with his hatred for Kurt. His hand wavered.

And then, Lieutenant Helmuth’s cry of pain broke the silence, and Kurt heard de Sardet call out, “It’s over, Lieutenant! Surrender!”

“Never!” Helmuth cried out. “For the Guard!”

“De Sardet! Watch out!”

Vasco’s panicked shout was enough to distract Kurt; he turned, momentarily distracted despite himself, and Rolf took the moment to lunge forward. Kurt caught the motion in time to keep from being stabbed through the chest, but felt the blade slice into his side as he moved to block.

 _A scratch,_ he thought, feeling the pain as blood blossomed across the silver side of his doublet, but he’d seen that de Sardet was fine: Helmuth had made a last desperate charge toward her, but Vasco had interposed himself between them, running the man through with his poisoned blade.

Now, it was de Sardet’s turn to cry out in dismay. “Kurt!”

“I’m fine, Green Blood,” he called out, facing Rolf once more. Rolf seemed emboldened by the sight of his wound, and Kurt hoped he hadn’t poisoned his own blade. _He’s never had any honor, but the Guard has never been one for poison._

“Are you? What have you told her about our past? About this camp, or our friend Hermann? Did you tell her about the _real_ night trainings?” Rolf tried to press his advantage, moving in on Kurt’s injury, but Kurt had known he would: he struck back, and this time, he was the one who inflicted a wound. Bright red blood blossomed on Rolf’s thigh, on the opposite side from the wound on his arm. 

It was the sort of wound that would end the fight soon enough. _He’s got one good arm and one good leg, and they’re on opposite sides._ The thigh wound looked to be worse than a scratch: blood looked to be pulsing from the wound in a rhythmic pattern, suggesting he’d hit an artery. _He won’t last long at all._

“Put down the sword, Rolf,” Kurt said. “You’re outnumbered. How do you think this is going to end? If you surrender and tell us everything you know about Torsten’s plot, I’ll ask Sieglinde for mercy.”

“Mercy? What would that be? That she’ll have me hanged instead of being drawn and quartered?” Rolf snorted. “Besides, if the commander has his way, your precious Sieglinde won’t be in a position to do anything for much longer.” He moved forward, heavily favoring his good leg, then looked down and seemed to notice the spurting blood for the first time. “You cocksucking son of a whore,” he snarled.

“Rolf,” Kurt said. “Don’t do this.” He saw the strike Rolf was preparing: it was one they’d learned back in the ghost camp, a dangerous move. _It’s good at killing, but good at getting you killed, too – leaves you totally open to a counterstrike, one I’ll have to take if I want to survive the attack._ “It won’t work.”

He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. _Kill him now,_ he told himself. He’d always hated Rolf, and he knew that Rolf was guilty of murder more than half a dozen times over. _There are that many bodies in that cellar. Them, Reiner, however many recruits he killed here before that…he deserves death, and worse._

But he’d seen that momentary look of anguish in Rolf’s eyes when he’d accused him of being another Hermann, the guilt and the grief and the weight of those shared memories. _How could he work with Hermann? How could he accept his praise?_ Even if they took him alive, Kurt doubted that Rolf would ever give him a truthful answer. _We loathe one another…but he loathes himself, too._ Kurt had seen how many lives Hermann had destroyed, knew the fates of his fellow recruits from that camp, and deep down, he knew that Rolf was another one of those casualties. _I may hate him, but I hate what Hermann did to him more._

Those thoughts went through his mind in an instant; it felt as if time had slowed as he saw Rolf bring his sword back, and he knew what he had to do. It was as if they were boys again, in a combat pit back in Gacane, facing each other while Hermann and his lieutenants watched. Only this time, they weren’t fighting with practice swords, and they were both in deadly earnest.

Rolf lunged, putting his full weight behind the blow. As he did, Kurt caught his arm, pivoted, and drove his own sword up and through Rolf’s gut, piercing leather and flesh alike. Rolf let out a gasp, and one hand scrabbled at Kurt’s arm for a moment before he lost the strength to hold on. Blood gurgled from his lips, and Kurt looked him in the eyes, hoping to have the time to ask him about Torsten and Hermann and their plans, but Rolf’s eyes were already fixed and lifeless, a glassy stare.

“Damn it,” Kurt swore, lowering Rolf’s corpse to the ground. “If we’d been able to ask him questions about what he was doing here—”

“He wouldn’t have lasted long enough,” said Vasco. “I don’t need to be Lady Aphra to tell you that he was a dead man even before you speared him through the gut.” He nodded to the wound on Rolf’s leg: the left leg of his trousers was almost entirely soaked through. “He knew it, too. If you weren’t so skilled, that last thrust would’ve taken you with him.”

“You’re wounded,” de Sardet said, looking with concern at the bloodstains on his arm and side.

He waved her off. “Not badly. Just a few scratches.”

“I wish Siora had come with us.” She pulled a healing potion from her doublet and made him drink it.

“What about you, Green Blood? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“As am I,” said Vasco. “Thank you for asking.”

“I knew you’d never let Helmuth get close enough to you to hurt you. A man like that is too used to hurting kids to know what to do when he’s faced with a real opponent.” Kurt looked down at Rolf’s body. “Just like Rolf. He got sloppy.” Rolf had relied on goading him, hoping he could taunt him into doing something stupid. _I fell for it…but just the once. I’m not that stupid._

“You’d think that someone in charge of training elite soldiers would be a better fighter,” Vasco observed. “I’m no expert, but I could see that you outclassed him.”

“We used to be more of a match,” said Kurt. “In training. I was stronger, but he was quicker. I had reach, but he had speed. Our instructors used to pair us.”

“Take off your doublet,” de Sardet insisted. “Let me see.”

He obeyed, but insisted, “It’s nothing, I’m telling you. A pair of scratches. Rolf was a dishonorable bastard, but he was still a Coin Guard; we don’t poison our blades.”

“You should be glad,” said Vasco as Kurt pulled up his undershirt, exposing a scratch that had sliced from just beneath his pectoral muscle to below his navel, cutting a diagonal line. It was long, but not deep, and the healing potion had already started to close the edges. “If he had, he might have been able to finish you.”

“It might need stitches,” de Sardet said; she frowned as she gently pressed her hand against his side, then produced another healing potion. “Drink this.”

“I—”

“Drink,” she insisted, and sounded distressed enough that Kurt took the vial without further protest. As he drank, she held the edges of the cut together, watching as the blood stopped seeping out through the wound. “It won’t need stitches if Siora sees to it,” she decided, then looked at his arm; that cut wasn’t nearly as bad, and the healing potion had nearly taken care of it on its own.

“Rolf never cared about fighting honorably,” said Kurt. “Even in our practices, he’d kick sand in my eyes, throw stones, spit in my face.”

“Your instructors allowed that?”

“Who do you think Rolf learned from? The instructors didn’t care about fighting with honor.”

“He used to be better than that,” said Kurt. “We used to be evenly matched.”

“But he learned he didn’t have to keep his skills up to beat fresh recruits into the ground, and you’re better than that,” said Vasco.

“Years of sparring with Green Blood and Constantin helped keep my skills sharp,” Kurt acknowledged. “If Constantin had ever beaten me, I’d never have heard the end of it!”

“I don’t think you’d want to tell him that you credit him with being the reason you’ve kept up your skills,” de Sardet said, amused. “You’d never hear the end of it.”

As her hand rested on his arm, Kurt tensed. _What did you hear?_ he wanted to ask. Rolf had said a number of ugly things, dredging up the worst parts of his past. _What would you think of me if you knew the truth?_

But the look in her eyes gave no indication that she knew the truth. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I know that Helmuth can’t have given you much of a fight, if neither of you are hurt.”

“The man’s a coward,” said Vasco. “He kept putting the recruits to his back, so I couldn’t get a clear shot. Made it harder for de Sardet to use her magic, too.”

“All it did was prolong the fight,” she said. “I kept asking him to surrender, but he wouldn’t listen. He kept speaking of being drawn and quartered, or being killed by the commander. He was truly afraid of Torsten.”

“Torsten,” Kurt spat. “He’s involved in all this. We’ll have to make him pay.”

“We will,” de Sardet promised him. She took a last look at his arm, and then again at the scratch on his side; satisfied that they were healing, she let him pull his doublet back on. “I’m only glad that Rolf didn’t do worse to you.”

“I’ll be fine, Green Blood,” he reassured her, and hoped he was telling the truth. _Hermann is on the island. He’s here, and he’s been conspiring with Torsten to do…something._ The ghost camp pointed to nothing good, but the letters were all so nonspecific that he couldn’t fathom what they intended. _I don’t know what they’re plotting, but I don’t think I’ll be fine until I’ve figured out what it is and put a stop to it…and until I see them pay for these crimes._


	68. Night of Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings continue, for descriptions of torture in the ghost camp and suicide.

Aphra, Petrus, Siora, and the recruits from the first squadron rejoined them soon after. De Sardet insisted that Siora attend to Kurt’s injuries before they did anything else.

“They aren’t bad, pretty twig,” he reassured her.

“I am glad to help, _cengots_.”

Siora’s healing magic did the trick; soon, both the cut on his arm and his side had faded into thin red lines that would be gone by morning. _A magic potion and a magic spell,_ he thought, rubbing at his scars. _If I’d had those as a boy, I wouldn’t recognize myself in a mirror._

“It’s a pity that you couldn’t take one of them alive,” Petrus sighed. “Being able to question them would have been helpful.”

“How long could we have questioned them for, really?” Aphra challenged him. “If Commander Torsten is as involved in this as those letters imply, he’d surely free any of the officers involved, no matter what Governor d’Orsay or Major Sieglinde say.”

“There are always ways of holding prisoners extrajudicially,” Petrus said. His mouth became a thin line, and for a moment, his eyes looked haunted. “Whether or not they are deserving of such punishment.”

“Rolf and his lieutenants would have deserved it,” Kurt said.

“We would have taken them prisoner if it had been possible. I offered Lieutenant Helmuth a chance to surrender.” De Sardet frowned. “He chose death.”

“He tried to kill de Sardet,” Vasco volunteered. “I had to kill him.” He nodded to Kurt. “I heard him try to get Rolf to surrender, too.”

“It was just as it was with Egon,” de Sardet said. “These men were too terrified of their commander to surrender.”

“I don’t know that it was that, Green Blood. At least, not with Rolf. I don’t think he was ever going to surrender to me.”

Kurt looked down at his body, and Aphra’s gaze followed. “What do you intend to do with the bodies?” she asked.

“The boys who died here deserve proper graves,” said Kurt. “Rolf would have had them buried in mass graves, or taken back to New Serene or San Matheus to stage their deaths, the way he did Reiner’s. But Rolf, Helmuth, and Edith…”

“We could leave them out to be eaten by wild animals,” Aphra suggested.

“They may be criminals, but they deserve better,” said Petrus. “Even the ashes of heretics are sometimes returned to their families for proper burial.”

“These men committed crimes far worse than heresy,” said Vasco. “You saw that basement. Whatever these recruits want to do to them, I’m in favor of allowing it.”

“I do not know that it will help them heal,” said Siora.

“Kurt?” de Sardet asked. “What do you think?”

He looked down at Rolf, then let out a long sigh. “The flower’s right,” he said. “If you leave it up to them, some of those boys might well piss on the bodies and leave them out for animals…but that only serves to turn them into the sort of men Rolf wanted them to be.”

“We can dig a mass grave. Throw their bodies in there. No marker, no memorial, but leave a pile of stones where it is so Sieglinde can dig them up later if she wants.” Kurt looked at the recruits around them. “Does that sound like a plan to you, recruits? I wouldn’t make any of you take the detail to dig the graves; you don’t owe them that.”

“My people would burn them, or inter the bodies in stone,” Siora offered. “They do not deserve to be returned to the earth.”

“I’d rather give Sieglinde the opportunity to retrieve the bodies if she wants,” said Kurt. “I don’t know if she’ll want proof they’re dead, or if she’ll want to dig them up and put their heads on spikes.” The latter wasn’t like her, but he could imagine her fury when she learned what Torsten had been planning.

“Then I will help dig this grave,” said Siora.

To Kurt’s surprise, Aphra protested. “You’ll be needed in the infirmary. Your healing magic can help these recruits.”

“As can your medicines,” said de Sardet.

Petrus sighed. “Which means that Captain Vasco and I ought to take on this responsibility.”

De Sardet frowned. “If you would prefer not to—”

“We’ll handle it,” Vasco reassured her.

“So you’ll bury the officers and…leave?” one of the recruits asked uncertainly, the only woman among them. Kurt wondered if she was Hannelore’s missing recruit.

“We’ll set out for New Serene in the morning,” said Kurt. “I’ll go straight to Major Sieglinde. She’ll send help.” He paused. “In the meantime, we should secure our supply wagon.”

“The wagon is not far down the trail, just out of sight of the outpost,” Petrus supplied.

“Your people should camp here with us, sir,” said Wilhem. “It’s safer than staying out in the open.”

“He’s right,” Aphra spoke up before Kurt could say anything. “Think of the number of beasts we’ve encountered. The camp isn’t pleasant, to be sure, but we could all get a full night’s rest for once.”

“And we have already broken camp,” Petrus pointed out. They’d kept the wagon nearby in case they needed to flee the ghost camp quickly; all their tents and supplies were packed inside.

De Sardet looked uneasily at Kurt. “I do not know,” she hedged.

“I do not like this place, _carants_ ,” Siora said. “It is full of the memory of death. The land will not forget these horrors.”

“Neither will we,” said Wilhem. “None of us have good memories of this place. But it will be safer…and for you, at least it’s only for one night.”

De Sardet was still looking at Kurt with concern. “Thank you, but—” she began, but Kurt stopped her.

“He’s right, Green Blood. It’s safer, and it’s only for a night. We should stay.”

“Are you sure?”

He forced himself to nod. _I can’t ask Wilhem and these other recruits to do anything I wouldn’t do myself._

“It’s the only logical thing to do,” Aphra said. “It’s far too late to set out for New Serene, and we’ll only waste time and energy setting up a camp outside the walls – a camp that would be significantly less secure than this one. If we stay, I’m sure we can even eat whatever’s provided to the recruits.”

“Or at least use their galley,” Vasco suggested.

“On land, it is called a kitchen,” Petrus corrected him. Kurt let them talk; he was fighting down memories.

“Kurt,” de Sardet said, very quietly. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ve endured worse,” he answered. _Most of it in a camp just like this one._

“If you want—” she began, then faltered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The Bridger’s right; it makes sense to stay here. And I can’t ask the recruits to stay if I won’t do it myself. They’ve been through hell here, and they’re still going to have to stay here until Sieglinde can send someone to get them out, even though most of them would rather burn this camp to the ground.” _I would, too._

“That’s interesting,” Aphra said suddenly, looking around.

“What is?” de Sardet asked.

“All of the recruits in this camp appear to be male.” 

“That isn’t true,” de Sardet said. “One of the recruits in the second squadron is a woman.”

“One out of a dozen? That still isn’t very many.”

“It’s another holdover from the last ghost camp. The camp on the continent recruited orphan boys, donations to the Guard. That isn’t true here; Reiner had a family, and so do most of these recruits. But the original camp was only boys, and it looks to be the case here as well.”

“I wonder why,” Aphra mused. “Every civilized nation on Gacane uses both men and women in their armed forces. Even the Congregation, which does not consider martial training a suitable vocation for its noblewomen, allows women to be recruited into the Blue-Silver Regiment of the Coin Guard.”

_Because of Hermann,_ Kurt thought, and shuddered. Hermann had done the recruiting for the ghost camp, and he’d chosen boys because of his own perversions.

“Torsten did permit women among the camp’s officers,” Petrus pointed out. “The late lieutenant is evidence of that. Given that there are only a dozen recruits here at the moment, perhaps it’s merely coincidence, and other classes of recruits have had more.” 

“You could ask Wilhem or one of the other recruits, if you’re interested,” de Sardet suggested.

“Maybe later. In the meantime, we have other tasks to attend to. For example, what do you want done with the wagon?”

Aphra led de Sardet away then, asking her about arrangements for the wagon and their supplies, and Kurt found himself desperately wanting to keep busy. _Anything to keep from being alone with my thoughts._ To his surprise, Siora approached.

“You are very brave. This place…it is terrible. Worse than any my people could imagine.” She shuddered. “It will take many healers many cycles to cleanse this place.”

“I hate it too, pretty twig.”

“I know. I am sorry for you, _carants_. That your people once did this to you…and now they do again…it is truly terrible that they treat their young in this way. We will make them pay for this, I swear it.”

One of the recruits called him away then, telling him that some of the other recruits wanted to speak with him, and he went. The next few hours passed quickly enough: many of the recruits wanted to thank him, ask questions about what came next, or ask him what he thought Major Sieglinde would do, if she had known of the camp, and whether or not she would be able to stand up to Commander Torsten. Kurt answered all their questions as best he could, reassuring them that he was certain Sieglinde had known nothing about the camp, would be horrified to learn the truth, and would help them with whatever came next.

“If you want out of your contracts, I’m sure she’ll see to it,” he said. “She’ll book you passage back to the continent, if that’s what you want, and the Guard will help with whatever healing you need. But I hope you’ll consider staying. This isn’t what the Coin Guard is about. This isn’t what the Guard is. You can survive this and come out of it stronger…not the way they said you would, not because of what they did to you, but in spite of it.” _I’m proof of that._ “I won’t tell you you’ll ever forget what happened here, or that you’ll ever be able to go back to the way things were…but it will get better. And the Guard can still be a place of honor, a place where you find comrades who share your ideals, if you’ll stay and help make it into that place.”

“I know that’s asking a lot, considering what you’ve been through. Maybe it’s asking too much. I wouldn’t blame you if you left. But I want you to know that I’m sorry for what’s happened to you here, and I promise you that nothing like it will ever happen again, not if I have anything to do about it. You have my word, on my honor, as a soldier of the Coin Guard…though I know how little that must seem after soldiers of the Guard put you through all this. But I will make Torsten pay, I promise you that. Anyone who helped create this camp, anyone who knew and did nothing…they will all pay.”

His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword then, and the expression on his face was enough to make more than one recruit take a step back, but Wilhem didn’t flinch away. “We believe you, sir,” he said. “Thank you. I think you’re the only one who’s ever cared about us.”

“Most of us don’t have anywhere else to go if we leave the Coin Guard,” another of the recruits supplied. “That’s why I joined up. Three hot meals in my belly every day and a bunk to sleep in at night, a little pay for the tavern or the brothel, and the promise of work: you can’t get that in Al Adar.” His eyes were haunted. “I never thought I’d be signing up for something like this.”

“You didn’t sign up for this,” Kurt replied. “None of you did. None of you should ever have been treated like this. The Guard abolished places like this a long time ago…at least, I thought it did. It will now.”

He stayed with the recruits until supper, talking to them of what would come next, asking they keep quiet about his plans and requesting they minimize the others’ role. “Listen to Sieglinde, or whoever she sends. She’ll give you a story to tell if the commander or his men come asking.”

“You knew Captain Rolf,” one of the youngest recruits ventured.

“We trained together,” Kurt said, then stopped, realizing that he’d given away more than he’d wanted.

“In a camp like this one? That’s what he said. That he’d come up through a camp like this before he was my age, and that it made him the man he was today – one of the Coin Guard’s finest.”

“Finest,” Kurt spat, unable to contain his disgust. “Rolf always did think too highly of himself.”

“But it’s true? He – you – trained in a camp like this before you were old enough to be recruits?”

“The Guard takes some recruits younger than others. It was an experiment they abandoned…but yes,” Kurt admitted. “I know what you’ve been through.”

“Thank you,” Wilhem said. “For putting an end to it.”

“I don’t deserve your thanks,” he replied, thinking of Reiner. “I shouldn’t have had to do this in the first place. The Guard should never have created a place like this.” For a moment, he could almost imagine Reiner’s face among the ranks of the boys who surrounded him.

He blinked, and Reiner was gone. “I wish I’d found out about it sooner. I wish I’d known.” Kurt paused, not knowing if he wanted the answer to the question he was about to ask, but unable to help himself. “Did any of you know a recruit named Reiner? From Serene, assigned to the Eleventh Company when he got here. He—he was my recruit.”

They had. Most were reluctant to talk, given how he’d died, but Wilhem prodded them until they offered up all the information they could. “He was a good friend,” he said, his voice laden with guilt. “And an inspiration to us all. He wouldn’t do what they wanted him to. Even when there was night training…well, he’d hit them, he’d have been dead a lot sooner if he hadn’t, but he had more strength than he ever put into his blows. He’d pretend to be tired and miss his swing on purpose. Maybe…maybe if we’d all done the same, he’d still be alive now.”

“You’re not the only ones who participated in a night training,” Kurt told him; it hurt to say it, knowing that Wilhem or one of the other boys around him might have been the one to land the blow that had broken Reiner’s ribs or cracked his skull, but he knew the guilt wasn’t theirs. _I can still feel the guilt of it myself, for the trainings I attended nearly twenty-five years ago._ “You’re not to blame. Rolf, his lieutenants, Torsten…damn them all to a fiery hell and an unmarked grave.” _Hermann. If only he were dead._ But Hermann was a major, out of reach, as untouchable as Torsten himself. _More so, since he is protected by the priests._ Kurt had not known Hermann was on Teer Fradee, but he did know of the man’s reputation. _They call him the Hero of the Red Sun. He has cardinals in his debt. They praise him._

The thought made him clench his fists again, and he forced himself to focus on the boys around him, reassuring them that there was nothing they could have done, telling them that none of them were to blame. “Don’t hold grudges against each other. Don’t blame each other for any of this. You didn’t do this to yourselves.” _I don’t know that they’ll ever forgive themselves, but I hope they will._ He knew it was a forgiveness he’d never granted himself, not truly, and his present surroundings only brought back those feelings. 

Vasco approached him next, after they’d eaten supper. “How are you faring?”

_How do you think?_ He kept his voice as neutral as possible as he finished the last of his meal. He had no appetite, but he didn’t want to draw Alexandra de Sardet’s concerned attention by refusing to eat; he had caught her concerned glances occasionally throughout the meal, and didn’t want her to worry. “As well as can be expected.”

“At least no one else died – not Wilhem, and not any of the other recruits. And you got justice for your recruit.”

“No,” Kurt replied, and was surprised at how raw his voice sounded. “Not yet. Not until Torsten’s paid for what he’s done – him, and all the others who helped him.” _Hermann._ He saw the man’s signature on the letter. _I didn’t know he was on the island. Because I didn’t want to know? I never asked who was in command of the Red Sun. I never imagined._

“We’ll get there,” Vasco reassured him. “It might take time, but de Sardet will see it through.”

“I know she will. Without her, I wouldn’t have gotten this far.” Kurt paused. “You’ve all risked your lives for this. I owe you all.”

“I can’t speak for the others, but you don’t owe me a damn thing,” Vasco replied. “Are you forgetting all the help you’ve given me? Without you, Lieutenant Dieter would’ve sent me away.”

“Green Blood would have talked him around…or bribed him, if it had come to that.”

“I don’t want to think of how much that would have cost,” Vasco replied. “You know how hard it is for me to take money from a noble…even from one who I count as a friend. And back then, she wasn’t even a friend. Thanks to you, I didn’t have to feel like a beggar…some poor outcast Naut who couldn’t afford a bribe of his own.” He paused. “That’s not all you did, of course. Breaking into the harbor office, sneaking out with my file, helping track down Bastien…”

“Green Blood deserves the credit for that.”

“You wouldn’t say that about what we did today. It’s the same thing. I might have asked de Sardet for help, but you came with us.”

“This was more dangerous.”

“I don’t know about that. My people would have attacked you if you’d been caught…and I’d asked you not to harm them, but they wouldn’t have been under the same limitations. And those thugs in Hikmet would have been more dangerous than these raw recruits if they’d attacked us.”

“I’m sure the others feel the same way. You helped Siora get her mother’s body back, and you built those censers for her, to bury her with. You laid her body on that stone altar before she did her rituals.” Vasco paused to take a sip of his ale, then set down his mug, looking Kurt in the eye. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re crew, and crew doesn’t keep score. _Friends_ don’t keep score,” he said, putting emphasis on the word.

_Friends,_ Kurt thought, and realized the sailor was right. _The pretty twig, the sailor…I don’t trust the old fox or the Bridger, not yet, but Vasco and Siora are better comrades than any I had in New Serene…closer than I’ve been to anyone since Sieglinde and Manfred left for Teer Fradee._ “You’re right,” he conceded. “Thank you, sailor.”

“What was it you said to me that one time? ‘I’m glad to have poured some oil in your lantern?’ Well, I’m glad to return the favor.” Vasco clapped him on the shoulder before moving away. “Whenever you want to try to settle the score with your commander, we’ll be with you.” He paused, as if considering his words, then frowned. “What they did here was an atrocity. Worse than anything my people have ever done to any of their recruits. It’ll be my pleasure to help you make things right.”

Even Petrus was unusually kind. “If you wish to speak with anyone, my son, I would remind you that I am a member of the clergy, and can act as the ear of the Enlightened if there is not one near.”

“What? Do you want me to ask for absolution for killing Rolf and his lieutenants?”

“Only if you feel you require it,” Petrus replied. “Those men and women were hurting innocent young men and women, and were responsible for the deaths of many.”

“At least a dozen,” Kurt said. Wilhem and the other recruits had given him names. _With Manfred’s help, maybe I can track them down. Maybe it’ll be enough to bring Torsten up on charges._

“They were all complicit,” Petrus said. “As far as I’m concerned, you brought them to justice; there was no sin committed here, no murder. But if you feel that confessing would remove that weight from your shoulders…”

“I’m not religious,” Kurt said. “I don’t worship your god of light.” He folded his arms across his chest, thinking of the smell of burning flesh that had permeated the Place of Punishment in San Matheus, the innocent boy whose throat had been crushed beneath Aloysius’s gauntlets. “I wouldn’t worship any god who’d set a man on fire for what he thinks. There are precious few crimes that deserve that punishment…and none of them involve what a man thinks or believes.” _Torsten deserves it for creating this camp, and Hermann…if there’s any man in this world who deserves to be tied to a pyre and burned alive, it’s Hermann._

“Do not judge my country by the inquisitors’ actions,” Petrus answered. “They are the worst of us. It would be as unfair as judging the Coin Guard by the actions of Captain Rolf and his peers.”

“But it is fair, isn’t it? We’re responsible for this. Even if I couldn’t stop it from happening, I couldn’t close my eyes and turn away...and now that we’ve put an end to it, it’s my duty to make sure it doesn’t happen again. This is what shows the Guard needs to be reformed…more than Egon and his men extorting those merchants, more than that Bridger outpost captain. Boys have died here.” _And only boys,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. _There aren’t any women among the recruits…just like the ghost camp back on Gacane, when Hermann had charge of the camp. Was that Hermann’s doing? Was it Rolf’s?_

If Rolf had followed in Hermann’s footsteps, all of Kurt’s mixed feelings about having killed him would have been swept away. _But…no. We served together in the Green-Azure; I would have heard something if he had._ Thoughts of Inge came to mind. _He might have done any number of despicable things, but nothing as despicable as Hermann._

Kurt’s feelings about Rolf were jumbled: he had hated the man, but he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with him, and even some pity. _We went through training together. We suffered the same things under Hermann. They made us both squadron leaders. We were both orphans, children of the Guard who never had anyone who cared about us. We both knew what it was to be alone, and we both moved from regiment to regiment, serving wherever we were ordered, doing whatever we were asked._ They had both fought in the war between the Bridge Alliance and Theleme; they had both come to Teer Fradee to serve in the Blue-Silver Regiment. _In another world, his life might have been mine. In another world, he might have been my brother…my closest friend, instead of my worst enemy._

He opened his eyes to find that Petrus was watching him; like Vasco, the diplomat was better at reading people than Kurt could ever hope to be, and Kurt shuddered to think of what he’d learned of him. “You do not have to bear the guilt for this, my son,” Petrus murmured. “You are not to blame for what happened here. To expect to be able to reform the Coin Guard single-handedly is asking far too much of yourself; you are not to blame for what your superiors have done, nor for what your guild has created here.”

“I have to hold them to account.”

“You have,” Petrus said. “And you will. Lady de Sardet has seen everything in this camp today, and you know as well as I that she will not let any injustice go unpunished.”

“It isn’t her responsibility.”

“Isn’t it? How many of these boys are members of the Blue-Silver Regiment? How many are citizens of the Merchant Congregation?”

Petrus was a tall man, only an inch or two shorter than Kurt: he looked him in the eye without difficulty. “You are not to blame for what has happened here. You have done everything you could, and your conscience should be satisfied. I know that you are not a member of the luminous faith, but if you were, I would tell you that you could stand in the Light without shame.”

Kurt met his gaze, and Petrus did not look away; his gaze was clear, and for once, Kurt did not see any calculation or shrewdness in his gaze, only sympathy and compassion.

“I know what it is to second-guess your own decisions,” Petrus said quietly. “To feel that you ought to have done more, that you should have been able to help someone you cared about…someone who died. This is not a burden you should have to bear. Forgive yourself, my son; the Enlightened already has.”

 _And Reiner?_ Kurt wanted to ask. _Do you think he forgave me for recruiting him? For not knowing he was here? Did he die cursing my name?_ Wilhem and the other recruits had told him otherwise, but some part of him thought that only made it hurt all the more. _He wanted to do what I would have done in his place. Little did he know that I’d been through this hell…the only difference is, I survived it._

They slept in a barracks that night, the soldiers clearing out several bunks for them. Nervously, Wilhem offered de Sardet Rolf’s quarters, but she declined, and Petrus refused the offer when she made it to him, stating that he preferred to share the others’ accommodations. 

Despite the slightly-too-short bunk, Petrus fell asleep quickly, as did the others. It wasn’t long before Kurt heard the sound of Aphra’s snoring, mingling with the more distant sounds of some of the recruits’ snoring, heavy breathing, and occasionally someone talking in their sleep. Those were all ordinary barracks sounds; they brought back memories of his training, and of all the years he’d spent with his fellow recruits in similar places.

Kurt couldn’t sleep; every time he closed his eyes, he could only think about another ghost camp: one that had been half a world away, more than half a lifetime ago, but that had looked so very much like the one he was in now. _The barracks in our ghost camp looked exactly like this one. How could Rolf stand it? How could he bear being here, let alone putting other recruits through the same hell we faced?_

He rose. He’d removed his doublet and boots to sleep, but nothing else; as quietly as he could, he put them back on, then stepped outside.

The night air was cool, and the camp was silent. Only a handful of boys were awake, stationed on the walls as sentries; they saw him and said nothing.

Kurt wasn’t sure where he was going until after he’d paced the length of the camp, finding himself at the northern gate. The sentry there let him pass unquestioned, and he made his way along the trail. Only when he’d gotten fifty feet from the gate did he realize that he was unarmed; he’d left his sword behind in the camp. _If I meet a wild animal, I’m done for._ But he didn’t go back to retrieve it, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone anywhere unarmed. _If one does put an end to me, I’d deserve it._

But he met no native beasts along the way, and Wilhem’s friends had taken the bodies with them, so there was nothing to attract scavengers. _This close to the outpost, the animals are likely too scared to approach._ Like any troop of soldiers, Kurt suspected the recruits and their officers would gladly have hunted and eaten any animals foolish enough to get near. _Those beasts would be used to seeing a dozen armed men here…and hearing the clash of battle._

He came to a stop in the clearing that Rolf had used for night training, the place where he had stopped the recruits from beating Wilhem to death. _The place where Reiner died._ He looked around, trying to imagine it. _He would have fought to the bitter end._

“Kurt,” he heard someone saying, and he startled badly; instinctively, he almost reached for the sword he’d forgotten before he placed the voice.

“Green Blood,” he said, turning to see de Sardet standing at the edge of the fighting ring. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous out here.”

She held up her hand. “I’m armed, which is more than I can say for you.”

He didn’t have a response ready for that. “You need your rest,” he said lamely, then faltered.

“No more than you,” she replied. “But I doubt either of us are likely to get much sleep here.”

“This place brings back too many bad memories for me,” he said, then turned back to the clearing, looking around. “And I can’t stop thinking about Reiner. This is where he died.”

“Kurt,” de Sardet said again, and moved to join him. Gently, she placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I wish we could have saved him…but at least his death enabled us to discover this camp, and in doing so, to save Wilhem and the others.”

“He would have been glad of that,” Kurt agreed.

“His death saved the lives of countless other recruits…he could not have known it, but it may comfort his family,” de Sardet suggested.

“It’s of some comfort to me,” he admitted. Hearing it from de Sardet’s lips had helped. “It makes me think his death wasn’t for nothing. That his sacrifice meant something, the way it would have if he’d died honorably on the battlefield, or protecting Constantin from some assassin’s blade…the way a member of the Guard expects to die. Not beaten to death by his comrades in the dead of night.”

“I asked after him, you know. Asked those boys what had happened, what they knew. They all said the same thing. He wasn’t the sort to go along with what they were doing. He was honorable. Stubborn. And he wasn’t afraid to talk back.”

De Sardet’s eyes were sad. “He reminds me of someone else I know.”

“He had more courage than I did at his age. I was a little younger when I went through all this, but…” Kurt choked up, and he couldn’t go on, overwhelmed by the memories.

“Kurt,” de Sardet said gently. “You were a child. You weren’t to blame.”

“I did what they told me. Put my head down and tried my best to get through it all. I participated in those night trainings, just like everyone else. Helped beat other boys, sometimes to death…I couldn’t tell you how many times. Everyone got their turn. Well, almost everyone.” _Rolf never did. There were times when I thought I’d have been glad to strike the first blow._ Those times had always been followed by an overwhelming feeling of shame. _The only reason anyone ever ended up as the target of those trainings was because they’d defied one of the instructors, tried to resist…because they wouldn’t let them break us._

“What they did to us…it was every day,” he said haltingly. “Not the night trainings, but…the beatings, the punishments…they’d starve us and make us fight for the scraps. They told us it was to make us stronger, but the lieutenants used to bet on who’d win, like it was their version of the arena.” Kurt had been big for his age, and he’d put a stop to that by winning that fight, then announcing they’d divide the food equally. _That got me a beating, but after that, it didn’t work._ Being larger than the others, an equal share of food meant he’d gone hungry more often than not, but a part of him had been glad he’d managed to thwart his instructors’ twisted amusements.

“Kurt,” de Sardet said very softly, pained, but Kurt didn’t hear her: he was too lost in the memories. Standing in the center of the fighting ring, he could almost see the other boys as if it was yesterday: Rolf, with his vicious grin and avid look in his eyes; Karl, his shoulders hunched with guilt; Jurgen, his eyes welling with tears, a whispered apology on his lips before he attacked.

“They wanted to break us. They’d have us march until we collapsed from dehydration or exhaustion, or haul rocks for no reason, save that they could. They broke us down so they could forge us into assassins and spies…not honorable soldiers or good men, but broken boys who’d do whatever they were told, who’d kill because they knew they’d be killed for their failure. They’d rouse us before dawn and make us stand in the cold. And when we tried to strike back, when we couldn’t take any more…even when we made some smart remark…”

He shuddered, and tears welled in his eyes as he thought of the whipping post in the middle of the camp, or the dungeon with its X-shaped cross, or the cold basement cells even more barren than the one Sir Fontaine had locked his son in. “I was big for my age, even then. The manacles they had always cut into my wrists.” He rubbed at his right wrist with his left hand, where the faintest white markings could still be seen. “You’ve seen what they did with the lash. And that cross…they’d hit you until you passed out, then pour cold water on your head to wake you. No sense in wasting resuscitation powder, any more than they’d waste healing potion.”

“Get put through that enough times, and you do what you have to, to make it stop. I learned what they wanted to teach me…put my head down and stopped asking questions. Obeyed them.” He thought of Hermann’s midnight visits, of the shame he’d felt every time the camp’s captain had roused him from his bed. _I’d rather have been whipped, a hundred times over._ “I thought they’d won. Maybe they did.”

He shook his head. “But I had a friend in that camp…my best friend. Hans. He was braver than I was. One day, he decided he couldn’t take it…that it was better to be dead than live the way they wanted us to.” Kurt blinked, and for a moment, all he could see was a pair of dangling feet, clad only in socks, the pair of laceless boots beneath. “He hanged himself in our barracks.”

“Oh, Kurt,” de Sardet breathed, and he looked up at her.

“That was when I decided I couldn’t take it any more…couldn’t do what Hermann wanted. The next time he…” he began, but couldn’t bring himself to say more; that was one secret he couldn’t share, not with anyone. _Not again._ “I said no. I fought back. And he sent me to night training. It nearly killed me. Rolf was there. That was meant to be part of my punishment…they were giving him command of my squadron. They wanted me to die knowing that he’d have command of my friends…that he’d do his best to hurt them, to make them into a squadron like his, despite everything I’d done to try to keep us from following his example.”

“But you lived.”

“Barely. I don’t know why they didn’t finish me off. Hermann must have wanted me dead.” Kurt gave a slight shake of his head. “Maybe too many boys had died already. Maybe he wanted me to suffer, and figured I’d die in the infirmary. Maybe it was because I fought like hell.” He’d fought defensively against most of his friends, but he’d gotten in a few good blows on Rolf; Gunter had told him afterward that he’d broken three of Rolf’s ribs, along with his nose and hand. _Two of his fingers never healed right._ He’d seen that when they’d fought that day: his middle and index fingers had been stiff and crooked, closing awkwardly around the hilt of his sword. _Hermann wouldn’t even spend a healing potion on his favorite._

Kurt looked around. “This ring…it’s exactly like the one in that camp. How Rolf could re-create it…how he could put other boys through the same hell we suffered through…I thought I hated him before I saw this place, but now…maybe I should have found a way to arrest him. A sword through the neck was too good for him…and still, there’s a part of me that still pities him, and I don’t know if I should hate myself for it. He killed Reiner, just as he’s killed so many other boys, as he would have killed Wilhem…he did the same things to them that Hermann and his lieutenants did to us.” _Hermann, Gottfried, Brunhilde…even after so many years, I still remember their names. I don’t think I could ever forget._ “Why should I feel sorry for him? Why should I feel anything but glad that he’s dead?”

“You were both victims of that camp,” de Sardet replied. She didn’t look disgusted with him for having participated in those trainings, or at his weakness for having failed to resist; all he saw as he looked at her was compassion and concern. “You were in that camp together for many years, were you not?”

Kurt nodded. “From the time we were ten.” _I was almost thirteen when we left; I think Rolf was a few months older._

“He was something of a brother to you…a brother-in-arms, if not one in truth. You’ve often spoken to me of how the Coin Guard considers all those who serve together to be brothers and sisters-in-arms.”

“How could you not mourn for him? If not for the person he became, then for the boy he once was.”

“Even as a boy, he was cruel,” Kurt admitted. “He could be insufferable. He always had to be the best at everything, and he wanted the praise of our commanders more than anything. Eventually, they made us the leaders of the two squadrons. He hated that it meant I was his equal…he was always trying to show me up!”

“Perhaps he thought that was the only way to escape the abuse,” de Sardet suggested. “Perhaps he believed that if he could be the best in the camp, he would not have to endure the same punishments.”

“I think that was true, to some extent,” he said. “He escaped some of the worst of it…in part because he’d turn other boys over when they said or did something to earn a punishment.” Rolf’s own squadron had followed his lead, turning on each other in a desperate attempt to escape a beating or a whipping; meanwhile, Kurt had told his own squadron that they would stick together even if it meant they were punished together. “I would never let my own squadron do the same…even if it meant I had to take the punishment in their place.”

“Is that what happened to your back?” de Sardet asked, very gently, and for a moment he looked at her with astonishment, wondering how she knew, before realizing that he was unconsciously rubbing at the scar.

He nodded. “I felt proud that I’d protected them…it made me feel better, even after the lieutenant who did it left me chained to the post overnight.” He paused, remembering how cold it had been, and how much it had hurt; he’d spent much of the night fading in and out of consciousness, awakened only by the pain. “Hans risked his own skin to come out and sneak me some water. He gave me his own supper that night. It meant more than I could say. He was always a true friend.”

“You protected him,” de Sardet answered. “You protected all of them.”

“Not Rolf,” he said. “Not today.” 

“Rolf was a victim, but he became a monster,” de Sardet replied. “Even so, I am sorry you had to kill him.”

“I don’t know if I am,” he admitted. “Part of me hated having to do it, because I pitied him…because I wondered if Hermann might have done the same to me, if things had gone differently.”

“No,” she said, and there was such certainty in her voice that he looked up, startled, and found himself staring her full in the face. The certainty in her voice was matched by the look in her eyes. “You were beaten, hurt beyond imagination, in ways that no child should ever be hurt…and yet I am sure you never perpetrated the same cruelties that Rolf did. Whatever you did to escape torment, you never stooped to his level.”

“I still participated in those trainings,” he said. “Still lifted a sword against my friends, the way everyone in that camp did.”

“But you did not surrender others to torment in the hopes of escaping it yourself. You took it on yourself to try to protect them. You were so brave—”

“No,” he protested. “I never was. Not in that camp.” _I was always terrified. Of Gottfried, of Brunhilde…but most of all, of Hermann, and of those midnight visits._

“To think that Reiner endured the same torments…and that he stood up against Rolf, that he fought back…he was the brave one,” said Kurt.

“He would not have wanted you to blame yourself. This is not your doing,” she said. “And thanks to you, we’ve put an end to it.”

“Thanks to you, Green Blood,” he replied. “Without you, I’d have gotten myself killed the moment I realized what Rolf was doing…what he’d done. You and the pretty twig helped me keep my head on my shoulders.” He paused. “And without you, I’d never have found this camp to begin with. That Bridger doctor would have turned me away, and I’d never have found out what happened to Reiner.”

“You’re the one who talked those recruits down,” she replied. “You convinced them not to attack us, both here and inside the camp. They listened to you.”

“And to you,” he said. “You knew what to say to make them listen…and you’re the one with the power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can’t bring Torsten to justice on my own, but—”

“We’ll do this,” she promised him. “Together. We’ll return to New Serene in the morning, and we’ll go to Major Sieglinde immediately, to let her know what we’ve found, and to make arrangements to protect the recruits here. After that, we’ll go to Constantin, and he can help us bring Torsten to justice.”

“Torsten,” Kurt said bitterly. “I didn’t want to believe this of him…because some part of me thought he’d saved me.” He saw de Sardet’s brow furrow in confusion, and explained, “Not long after my night training, he came to visit the camp…to perform a surprise inspection, he said. I was still in the infirmary, and I told him the truth about what had happened. I didn’t think I had anything left to lose.”

“I thought they’d kill me for it, but instead, word came down within a fortnight that the camp was to be shut down, that we were all to be reassigned. The younger boys were sent to finish training elsewhere, but I was commissioned as a recruit and sent to an infirmary in Serene to recover…and to the Bronze Shield Regiment not long after that.”

“Serene,” de Sardet echoed. “Was this camp in the Congregation?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t near a city, and they didn’t tell us where we were going when they brought us there. They wanted us far from civilization…far from anyone who could learn the truth. I think it was likely in the northern wilds. They’ve logged much of that area now, but all those years ago, it was still all forest and wilderness. I’m sure they didn’t tell your uncle what they were doing.” _I’m sure if they did, he wouldn’t have cared._ The Prince d’Orsay didn’t strike Kurt as the sort of man who would have cared if he’d known that the Coin Guard was tormenting its recruits. _He’s the sort of noble who wouldn’t give a damn about a bunch of lower-class orphans._

“When Sieglinde told me the rumors about Torsten…even when we learned of the corruption here on the island…I didn’t want to believe the worst of him, because some part of me still believed that he was responsible for shutting down that camp. I thought he must have learned of it and been as horrified as I would have been…as any decent man would have been.” Kurt swallowed. “I was such a fool. The only way he’d have been able to conduct a surprise inspection was if he already knew of the camp’s existence…and the way he acted, the way the others deferred to him…it must have been his project. I don’t know why he shut it down, but it wasn’t because he hated how we were being treated. Maybe too many of us were dying, or he wasn’t getting the results he wanted, but he didn’t save me out of kindness, or even out of a sense of honor.”

“You were a child,” de Sardet protested. “It was not foolish to be grateful to the man who saved your life, or to have failed to understand the machinations of the grown men around you…men who used you terribly.”

_You don’t know the half of it,_ Kurt thought, looking away: he knew that de Sardet was naturally understanding of others, and he didn’t think he could bear it if she somehow guessed the truth.

“Even now, there is no shame in having failed to believe that Torsten was not the man you believed him to be.”

“I spent the first year in that camp hoping someone would come to save us…that they’d rescue me, burn the camp to the ground, kill Hermann and his lieutenants, all of it. But eventually, I stopped believing. I knew no one was coming to save us…or I thought I did, until the camp closed, and told myself I had Torsten to thank for it.” 

“He made a fool of me,” Kurt repeated. “I should have listened to Sieglinde. I should have known.” He shook his head.

“There is no shame in being deceived,” de Sardet insisted. “Nor in believing the best of others. You are not to blame for what he did.” She reached forward, and to Kurt’s utter astonishment, gave him a hug, squeezing him tightly, the embrace meant to comfort. “I am so sorry for what happened to you. I hate the thought of what they did. To think that the Coin Guard could be so cruel to its recruits, both here and on the continent…it is a travesty, one that will never be repeated, not if I can help it.”

It was something Kurt had told himself a hundred times that day, and to hear it coming from Alexandra de Sardet’s lips meant more than he could say. “I thought it wouldn’t happen again,” he said, still holding onto her; he knew it wasn’t proper, that it obliterated the distance that a guard should have kept from the noble lady he served, but in that moment, he didn’t care; all that mattered was the comfort he took from the feeling of her arms around him, and the gentle kindness in that embrace. “I served the Guard believing that it was an aberration. If I’d believed it was possible, I would never have recruited Reiner. I’d have left him in Serene…told him to find some merchant who needed their warehouse guarded, or even told him to run off and join the Nauts. Everything I’ve always believed about the Coin Guard, all our ideals…”

“Still exist in you,” she insisted as she relaxed her embrace, though she still held onto his arms as she looked up at him. “In you, and Sieglinde, and Manfred, and so many others. You’ve proved to the recruits here that there are still officers of the Coin Guard who possess honor, who are willing to risk their own lives to protect others…who will come to save those in need of rescuing.”

“You thought there were no heroes, until Torsten shut down that camp…and now you’re thinking it again, because of his lies. But you’ve proved yourself wrong. Don’t you see that? You are everything that you once wished for, a hero to those recruits…the man you wished would come to save you.”

_I didn’t come in time for Reiner,_ he thought. _I didn’t even know._ But the guilt stung less than it had when he’d stood alone in the clearing, and his grief was eased by de Sardet’s presence.

“You’re shivering, Green Blood,” he realized, noticing it for the first time. “The night air is cold.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but his thoughts shifted away from himself as he realized she wasn’t wearing gloves or her usual cape: she looked as if she’d hastily pulled on her doublet and boots before following him. Her cravat was missing, and her hair was loose around her shoulders, without a hat.

_I didn’t even notice._ He felt guilty then, but not because of Reiner or the camp. “We should get you back to the barracks before you catch cold. And you need your rest. You weren’t hurt in the fighting today, were you?”

“Not at all,” she promised. “They never got close enough to touch me.”

“Good.” Kurt considered stripping off his own doublet, but knew it would draw stares from the sentries when they returned to the outpost, and that de Sardet was likely to refuse in any case. Instead, he put an arm around her, drawing her close. “Here. I know it’s not much, but you won’t feel the wind as much if I’m in the way.”

“Will you promise me that you’ll try to sleep? We could stop at the wagon; I’m sure I could find something to help you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.” They’d brought the wagon inside the walls, tying the _andrig_ up in the outpost stables, and de Sardet insisted on retrieving a potion for him. “Please.”

She watched him drink, and made sure he went directly to his bunk when they returned to the barracks. Aphra’s snoring made their attempts at stealth comical; if her snoring hadn’t woken the others, he doubted that their footsteps would.

“We will make sure this camp is dismantled,” she promised him in a whisper. “We will make sure another is never built again…not here, not on the continent, not anywhere.” To his surprise, she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Get some rest.”

“You do the same,” he whispered back, and then her sleeping potion was at work, blurring his thoughts and slowing his mind.

He slipped into a peaceful, dreamless slumber, and woke to discover that de Sardet had stayed up after he had fallen asleep: she had a completed letter in hand when they went to the mess hall for breakfast. Sieglinde’s name was written on the front, and the back was sealed with the official seal of the legate of the Congregation of Merchants, the Congregation’s arms impressed into the sealing wax.

“If you feel one of the guards at the gate is trustworthy, I will entrust it to them as soon as we enter the city,” she told him. “Otherwise, we’ll go directly to Quartermaster Manfred and ask him to deliver the letter to Major Sieglinde herself. I don’t want to go directly to her in case anyone is watching, but I would hope Manfred can find a way to get the letter to her discreetly, and that she can arrange the meeting from there. I’ve requested a private audience immediately, or as soon as was possible, though I have not named the reason.” She did not dare to entrust the secret to parchment, knowing that Torsten had been so closely involved with the camp, but made enough allusions to the need for discretion and the urgency of the matter that she hoped Sieglinde would read between the lines.

“That’s a good idea,” Kurt told her. “I don’t know how many of the men will stand with Torsten, if it comes to it. Sieglinde’s a good commander, and she should have the respect of the men, but Torsten’s been trying to sideline her for too long.” Guilt and anger mingled on his face. “I should have known she was telling the truth. I didn’t want to believe things could be this bad here, or that Torsten could be wrapped up in it. He’s neck-deep in this, and the things he’s done—”

She reached out, squeezing his hand; her touch seemed to draw him from his fury. “We’ll make this right,” she promised, then paused, looking at him with concern. “Will you be all right, Kurt?”

“Yes…yes, I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I’m just glad to know this camp won’t kill anyone else.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” Wilhem said, approaching with a few of the other recruits: Paul, the dark-skinned recruit who’d spoken up when they’d stopped one squadron from beating Wilhem to death, and Timothy, the recruit who’d spoken at Rolf and Helmuth’s combat pit. “Without you…”

“I hope you can forget about all this,” said Kurt. “This is not what the Guard is about.”

De Sardet looked at him with concern. “Do you think they can forget?” she asked in a low tone. She looked to Wilhem and the others. “I hope that you will not try to bury the past. Find someone you can trust and speak to them. Your memories of what happened here must be terrible, but pretending that this didn’t happen will not help you heal.”

“Yes,” said Siora, who had overheard. “My people have mind-healers. They would say that no one can truly forget their past, and that pretending a thing never happened will not make it go away. You can learn to accept, and to let go of the pain. Only then can you make a future.” She hesitated. “My people would be happy to send someone to help you. Just as we would be willing to send _doneigada_ to cleanse this place.” 

“I’ll talk to Sieglinde about it,” Kurt promised. He looked to the recruits. “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know that I’d like to talk to a native, but…I think I would like to talk to someone,” Wilhem confessed.

“A priest, maybe,” said Timothy. “For those of us who believe in the Enlightened, anyway.”

“I’d rather talk to the native,” said Paul.

“I’m sure Sieglinde will give you all the choices she can,” said Kurt. _She’ll agree with Green Blood._ “She always says it’s better not to keep things bottled up, because if you do, sooner or later you’ll find yourself staring down a bottle. I don’t want to lose any of you to drink.”

“No, sir,” said Wilhem.

He saw a flash of guilt in Paul’s eyes. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive us, Wilhem.”

“I’ve been in your shoes on other nights,” Wilhem replied. “You didn’t have the choice.”

“He’s right,” said Kurt. “Don’t weigh yourself down with that guilt. It isn’t yours to bear. Your commanding officers are at fault.”

“And they’re dead,” said Timothy. “Thank you for that, sir. Seeing the captain fall…I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed about that. When he was drilling us after we’d been three days without sleep, or when Helmuth had me whipped…”

“Whipped?” Kurt tensed.

“Yes, sir. He’d erect a post in the middle of the combat pit, the big one at the back of the camp, and he’d make the rest of us watch,” Paul supplied.

“Rolf, you bastard,” Kurt breathed; he was tense, and suddenly very, very glad that Rolf was dead. _If he wasn’t, I’d be tempted to beat him to death with my bare hands._

“We’re all glad he’s dead, sir,” said Wilhem. “We didn’t think anyone could kill him. He was like something out of a nightmare.”

“A monster,” Timothy agreed, and suddenly Kurt felt sad once more.

 _Hermann wanted to make monsters of us all._ With Rolf, he had succeeded. _He made a handful of monsters, and a lot of broken men._

“You wanted to speak with us this morning, sir?” Wilhem asked.

Kurt nodded. “I did. Tell the others to meet us outside, between the fighting pits.”

Once they’d assembled, he made his announcement. “While we wait for this camp to close for good, you’ll be under Wilhem’s command. You’ll soon receive your transfer orders.”

“At your orders, Captain!” said Paul.

“Glad it’s you, Wilhem!” Timothy spoke up.

“You’ll stay here for now. I’ll send men I trust to come get you soon.” Kurt wanted to speak with Sieglinde. _She’ll need to find a place for all of them…positions that are prominent enough that they can’t just disappear, and safe enough that they can’t suffer any ‘accidents.’ I don’t want to hear that Wilhem drowned in the harbor, or that Paul drank too much and choked on his own vomit, or that Timothy had an accident cleaning his gun. All these boys made it out of the camp alive, and I want to make sure they stay that way._

“What do you want us to do?” de Sardet asked him. He knew she was asking for the recruits’ benefit.

 _She’s right. They need to hear that Sieglinde knew nothing of all this. They need to know they can trust her._ “I will need backup if I really want to put an end to all this,” he said. “We must go see Major Sieglinde in New Serene. I need to tell her what was going on here.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t involved?” de Sardet asked, and while the conversation might have mostly been for the recruits’ benefit, he couldn’t help but think that there was a trace of doubt in her voice that might have been genuine.

“Her? Never! She’s old school,” Kurt reassured her. “She already held the commander at a distance because she didn’t like the direction the Guard was headed. He would’ve sacked her, or worse, if she didn’t have so much support within the guard. I should have listened to her…” His voice trailed off as guilt tore at him once more, thoughts of what he should have done and the boys he might have been able to save if he’d learned of the camp sooner.

“There is no use brooding over the past,” de Sardet told him quietly, in a tone not meant for the recruits. More loudly, she added, “Let’s go! We’ll go see her immediately.”

Kurt added his own reassurances, and made the recruits promise to keep quiet about everything that had happened in the camp. “Talk to each other, but not to your fellow guards back in the cities. Until Sieglinde clears all of this up, I don’t know who you can trust, and I don’t want Torsten making an example of you for talking. I hope we’ll be able to put him under arrest and have him court-martialed soon, but the men and women responsible for this atrocity are all high-ranking, and Sieglinde is only one woman. Once Torsten and his co-conspirators are all stripped of rank, we’ll be able to start re-forming the Guard into what it ought to be, but until then, I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

“If there’s anything we can do to help, sir—” Wilhem began.

“Do what Sieglinde tells you. You’ve suffered enough; I don’t want to put this burden on any of you.”

“It isn’t your fault either,” Wilhem said. “You saved us.” He paused, considering his words for a long moment before he added, “I know you’re upset that you couldn’t save Reiner, but you saved me, and all the rest of us. I know that might not be enough for you, but I’ll always be grateful.”

Kurt nodded, and had to swallow over a sudden lump in his throat. “Thank you, Recruit.”

“No. Thank you, sir.”


	69. The Legate and the Major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet meets Sieglinde.

They spent the journey back to New Serene in relative silence, but de Sardet stayed with Kurt the whole way. Even when they didn’t say much, her presence gave him comfort. _Friends,_ he thought, remembering what Vasco had said. _She truly is the best friend I’ve ever had._ Even her willingness to remain near him helped. _She knows that I was in a camp like this one, knows what I had to do, and she doesn’t despise me for it._

But he didn’t think she’d heard what Rolf had said. _Or did she?_ he wondered, remembering her words to Wilhem about not burying the past. _No. She couldn’t have. If she had, I don’t know what she would think of me._ His own memories were still too wrapped up in shame to imagine that anyone else would feel differently. _If anyone could understand, it would be her. Green Blood is the most gracious person I know, the most understanding…but I still cannot imagine speaking of it to her._

He was glad that he recognized the guard at the gate when they returned to the city. “Give him the letter,” he told de Sardet, then turned to the recruit. “Recruit Gerhard,” he said. _One of Reiner’s friends. One who’s terrified enough to want to go back to the continent, but who may still want to help him._

“Yes, sir!”

“Take this letter to Major Sieglinde immediately. Tell her that it is from the legate, and is for her eyes only.”

Gerhard saluted, and from the look in his eyes, Kurt thought he knew what it was about. “Yes, sir!”

They returned to the house. “Kurt, you should try to get some rest,” de Sardet told him gently, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

It was Gerhard. “Your Excellency! Captain!”

“Yes?” de Sardet asked.

“Major Sieglinde said for you to come immediately. She’s at the barracks.”

They obeyed, finding Sieglinde in her office upstairs.

“Sieglinde, I need to talk to you,” he said as he entered; he knew he should have let de Sardet speak, but was too upset to keep silent. 

Sieglinde saw it too. “What’s the matter, Kurt?”

“We’ve just returned from a training camp,” Kurt said. His voice was brimming with emotion; he was still unable to contain how upset he was. “A secret camp where elite soldiers are trained…through terror, humiliation, and torture.”

_She knows._ De Sardet saw it in Sieglinde’s eyes: not just the horror at learning of the camp’s existence, but compassion and empathy for Kurt.

“Don’t tell me that,” Sieglinde said.

“Yes. One of my recruits died, and he wasn’t the only one. It is designed to create a regiment of assassins.”

“I am sorry, Kurt. I knew something was wrong, but I never thought it would go that far.”

“We put an end to it all. We had to. But Torsten allowed it, even encouraged it…”

“I told you that the commander’s ambition would end up leading us astray from the ideals of the Guard…and that we would pay the price for it.”

“Yes. At the time, I told you he was exaggerating. That he had his reasons…”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to speak out, Sieglinde, and reveal the commander’s ‘project’ to the governor of the Congregation,” Kurt said, his voice brimming with anger.

“If I were as close to him and his family as you are, I would have done so a long time ago.”

“I know,” Kurt said, and now de Sardet could see the weight of self-recrimination and guilt in his eyes. “I feel so stupid for not having understood Torsten’s scheme until now!”

Sieglinde was conciliatory. “You’ve always been a loyal person, Kurt, and too many loyalties are sometimes hard to reconcile.” She paused, and her face grew hard. “But Torsten betrayed us all. I’m counting on you to make him pay for it.”

“Believe me, he won’t get away with it. Goodbye, Sieglinde.”

“Goodbye, Kurt. My men and I stand with you.” She paused, preparing to show them to the door, then stopped. “You’d best be careful, both of you. Whatever Torsten is planning with this camp can’t be good. Talk it over with the governor, but keep your heads down. The Congregation has no standing army of its own, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be in the city.” She paused. “I’ll prepare a list for you, men and women I know you can trust…good soldiers whose first loyalty is to the Coin Guard and its ideals, not Torsten and his schemes.”

Kurt nodded, but de Sardet could see the same anguish in his face that had driven him back outside the ghost camp, when he’d been ready to charge in single-handedly. “We have to stop him.”

De Sardet placed a hand on his arm. “We did,” she said gently. “We saved Wilhem and all of those boys. Without his recruits, he may not be able to execute his plan, whatever it is.”

“How many of those recruits have already graduated? How many are stationed on the island even now?”

“We will stop them,” de Sardet reiterated. “I promise you that. We’ll do this together.”

Kurt looked up at her, and she saw him exhale; beneath her touch, he relaxed. “Thank you, Green Blood.”

“She’s right, Kurt,” Sieglinde spoke up. “Don’t get yourself killed – or her, for that matter.” De Sardet knew that the major had chosen her words intentionally: Kurt might charge into battle heedless of his own life, but he took his oath to protect her seriously.

_Sieglinde really does know him well,_ she thought, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. _They clearly have some sort of past, and he trusts her enough to confide in her about everything he’s seen at the ghost camp…and she knows of his own past in one. I can’t imagine Kurt telling anyone about that lightly._ She knew how long it had taken him to speak to her of his past, and how rarely he opened up to anyone.

“I won’t,” Kurt promised.

“Breaking up that ghost camp on your own, without sending for backup…if it had been anyone else, I don’t think they would have succeeded,” said Sieglinde.

“Well, I was trained for it,” Kurt said, and his voice grew brittle. For a moment, he retreated into himself, and de Sardet saw the way his mouth tightened as his eyes grew haunted.

“Kurt,” she said, very softly.

It was enough; his head snapped up, and he looked at her. “I’m sorry, Green Blood,” he said.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“You risked your life to help me, and—” Kurt looked to Sieglinde. “Without her, I wouldn’t have come back. I’d have gotten myself killed, the way you thought I would have.”

“When it’s your own life at risk, you’ve always been too quick to rush in,” Sieglinde said. “Getting yourself killed trying to right a wrong does no one any good. The Coin Guard needs men like you, Kurt. I need men like you, if I’m to make a difference. Don’t put yourself in a position where Torsten feels the need to eliminate you…or the legate, for that matter.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” said Kurt. “I’m no one, but Green Blood—”

“Before this, I would never have imagined that Torsten would dare to resurrect the ghost camp,” Sieglinde replied. “I thought he had created a regiment of his own, a squadron of like-minded men…but the idea that he was doing this to recruits, that he set this up in Congregation territory, smuggled weapons in to arm them, and trained them in ways that the Guard disavowed more than twenty years ago…now, I cannot imagine that there are any limits to his audacity.”

She nodded to de Sardet. “That incident with the native hunter…he proposed you enter the arena, did he not?”

“He did,” de Sardet answered.

“You’re saying he did that in the hopes of getting her killed? Why would he have wanted her dead?”

“I don’t think it was his main goal, but I think he would have found it an acceptable outcome,” Sieglinde replied. “I’m sure he was hoping that she would either refuse his challenge or that she would kill Gaspard. If she refused, she would prove herself a coward to the Coin Guard; the Guard would lose respect for the Congregation, making them turn back to Torsten for leadership and guidance. If she killed Gaspard, she’d stoke resentment among the men…resentment he could use. If she died…well, Torsten has never liked nobles. I’m sure he would have been glad to kill the governor’s cousin.”

“This talk of putting his own men around the governor…what do you think he’s planning? An abduction? Holding him for ransom? Holding him prisoner so he can act as Torsten’s puppet?”

“All of the governors,” Sieglinde replied. “Not just Governor d’Orsay. The Prince d’Orsay might ransom his only heir, especially as the Congregation lacks troops of its own to attempt to take him back, but what of Governor Burhan or the Mother Cardinal Cornelia?” She frowned. “We’ll need to tread carefully, Kurt. Tell the governor what you’ve found, but make sure none of his guards overhears. See what he thinks.”

“I will,” Kurt promised. “With any luck, we’ll shut this down before it goes any further. I don’t know what Torsten was planning to do with this regiment, but I hope we never find out.”

“I hope we hear it from Torsten’s lips…once he’s safely confined in a cell, awaiting trial. If it were up to me, he’d be court-martialed and dishonorably discharged for having resurrected this project,” Sieglinde said bluntly. “But it’ll be a difficult task to throw him inside a cell before he can do the same to us…if he doesn’t try to kill us outright, that is.”

“We will need to be careful,” said de Sardet. She frowned, then sighed. “I had hoped that we would leave assassinations and intrigues behind in Serene…but it seems that politics and plots have followed us across the sea.” 

“I won’t let him hurt you, Green Blood,” Kurt promised.

“I know you won’t,” she reassured him.

Sieglinde watched them. “Be careful, both of you,” she said. “Legate de Sardet, I am truly grateful that you’ve helped Kurt. We should be capable of putting our own house in order, and it humiliates me to admit that I could not handle this on my own…but I am thankful to you for all your assistance, and for keeping an eye on Kurt.”

“What can you tell me about him?” de Sardet asked, curious about their relationship.

Despite everything, Kurt looked amused. “If you’re expecting her to tell you any nasty little secrets, maybe it’s better if I head away!”

“Don’t say such silly things, Kurt,” Sieglinde said. “You know I only have good things to say about you!”

To de Sardet, she said, “We have known each other a long time, and we have fought together. I think we have been brought closer by the ideals of the Guard…a mercenary guild, certainly, but one for whom honor and loyalty are not empty words.”

“Some would tell you that we’re past it. That our vision is too naïve and idealistic. Perhaps that’s true. But I do not mind fighting and risking my life for what I believe is right. Kurt, too.”

She smiled warmly. “He’s a good friend, but he can be a stubborn ass, and that temper of his gets fiery when he confronts an injustice as grave as the one you saw in that camp. It’s good to know that you’re helping him keep a cool head when it comes to a fight…and better to know that he’s found a true friend, one who shares his ideals. If you had not been born into nobility, Your Excellency, you would have made a fine member of the Coin Guard. I hope you’ll take that in the spirit it’s intended.”

“That is truly a compliment,” de Sardet answered. “Thank you…although I cannot say I share your opinion. I do not think I would ever have made a soldier.”

“You’re too gentle for that,” Kurt agreed. “But you embody the best of the Guard’s ideals. Honor, loyalty, courage…you may not like to fight, but you’ll do it to help those who need it.”

“As you did with the merchants in this city and that native hunter,” Sieglinde said, “and now, the recruits in that camp.” Again, she looked from Kurt to de Sardet, and there was a great deal of warmth in her expression as she said, “I am grateful for everything you’ve done. Look after him, Your Excellency.”

“I think you have us confused,” Kurt said. “I’m the one who’s protecting her.”

“Yes, but I know you. Going into that camp, finding Rolf there…this time, she’s the one who saved your life.”

Now, it was de Sardet who felt as if she ought to head out. “If you’d like to spend some time catching up—”

“No,” Sieglinde said. “In fact, it’s best if you go now, Kurt. Until Torsten is stopped, we can’t be seen together too often. It’s better if he thinks you’re still an obedient member of the Guard.”

“How could he think that now? I took Green Blood to that camp, exposed what they were doing there…killed Rolf and his lieutenants…”

“Exactly,” said Sieglinde. “You killed Rolf. You didn’t arrest him. I’m sure Torsten knew how much you hated each other. Captain Rolf was not exactly silent on that point.”

“He never could shut up,” Kurt muttered.

That made Sieglinde smile, though the warmth in her eyes had gone. “He would have said the same thing about you, I’m sure.” The smile faded. “Torsten will know you and Rolf were old enemies…just as he knows you were trained in the last ghost camp. I think I may be able to make him believe you were settling an old score when you killed Rolf and shut down that camp…that you thought it was Rolf’s pet project and not Torsten’s.”

“I don’t know that he’ll believe it,” Kurt cautioned her.

“There’s no harm in trying,” Sieglinde replied. “If he does, it keeps some trouble from finding you while we find a way to bring him to justice. If he doesn’t, well…watch your back, Kurt.”

“I always do,” he replied. “Goodbye, Sieglinde.”

“Goodbye, Kurt. I hope the next time we speak, it’ll be under better circumstances.” Sieglinde paused. “Take some time for yourself, if you can. Don’t bottle things up inside…or turn to the bottle, for that matter. I know this will have reopened old wounds.”

“I have my duties,” he answered.

“Kurt,” Sieglinde reproved him. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, but de Sardet suspected his bluff tone was more to try to allay Sieglinde’s concerns than out of any genuine assurance that he would be. “We’ve shut down that damned camp. No more boys will be tortured or beaten to death, and Reiner has his justice. I can write his family and tell them that the man responsible for his death is dead – one of them, at least. I’d be happier if I could tell them the rest were, too, but it’ll be something.” He paused. “Make sure Torsten doesn’t do anything to the survivors. Even if you have to send Wilhem and the others back to the continent, don’t let them disappear, or end up attacked by beasts on the way back to the city, or—”

“I’ll make sure they’re safe,” Sieglinde promised him.

“And that they have someone to speak to,” de Sardet added. “A chaplain, perhaps, or someone trained in helping them heal…not merely from their physical injuries, but from those of mind and soul. Siora tells me that the natives have healers who specialize in treating such wounds; I know that we do not have anything like it on the continent, not truly, but…”

“I’ll see to it,” Sieglinde promised. “We may not have anything like the natives, but we do have chaplains for the religious men, and for those who are not, there are men and women who’ve had experience with helping their fellows. Some of them have their own scars from battle, and devote their lives to teaching others to cope…to live with the memories of what they faced, and to learn to move on with their lives.”

“It isn’t common, but Sieglinde helped create one such program in the Red Sun,” said Kurt. “Counselors, she called them, only the advice they gave was on putting a man’s life back together. Her success there is what got her noticed and promoted into the Blue-Silver.”

“Some would say they promoted me to get rid of me,” Sieglinde said. “There are always commanders averse to new ways of doing things.” She paused. “Too often, we’ve told those with such wounds to ignore them and move on – to pretend that it never happened at all, if only because it doesn’t leave a scar anyone can see. But some things leave deeper scars than any sword.” 

De Sardet couldn’t help but glance at Kurt, thinking of his reaction to the ghost camp, and the way he’d looked when they’d found the torture chamber. _I cannot imagine what he must have endured. It was bad enough when I thought he had been whipped by an overzealous instructor seeking to punish, the way that Vasco was hurt by his captain…but to learn that such punishments were an ordinary part of training, to break down children so they could be molded into obedient soldiers…_ Even the thought now brought tears to her eyes. _How could anyone do such a thing?_ She was fiercely glad that Rolf was dead.

Sieglinde saw, and rubbed at the scar on her own chin. “I know some of the men will be too stubborn to seek help the way they should…but even those men may benefit from seeking out a friend. Someone to listen…someone with a great deal of kindness and understanding.”

Kurt gave her a look, and Sieglinde said, “Not that I know anyone like that, of course.” She sobered. “But I mean it. Take care of yourself, Kurt.”

“I will,” he promised, and Sieglinde turned to de Sardet. “I hope you’ll hold him to that.”

“I will,” de Sardet said. “I plan on remaining in New Serene for a while before traveling again.”

“I hope you’ll know the Guard is better than this, Your Excellency. What Torsten did, creating that camp and tormenting those boys…it’s a foul crime, and he’ll answer for it. It isn’t what the Guard was made to be.”

“I know,” de Sardet reassured her. “As you said, the Coin Guard was meant to be a mercenary guild founded on the ideals of brotherhood and honor, a group of soldiers who would fight for noble causes, defend the defenseless, and protect those who were unable to protect themselves.” She paused. “When I think of the Coin Guard, I think of Kurt, who has always upheld those ideals, and who has always encouraged me to do the same. He is truly the most honorable man I know.”

“That is high praise indeed,” said Sieglinde.

“Not so much, maybe,” said Kurt. “Remember, she grew up in Serene. There aren’t a lot of nobles who’d fight with honor!”

“Don’t disparage yourself – or do her the dishonor of refusing her compliment. You’ve done the Guard proud today.”

“I’d be prouder of the Guard if we hadn’t needed to do any of this at all.”

“So would I. But we’ll see this through,” Sieglinde promised. “Now, go on, both of you.”

They descended the stairs, and de Sardet couldn’t help but think about how readily Kurt had spoken with Sieglinde, and how comfortable they had seemed around each other. _Were they lovers? Are they?_ De Sardet felt a sharp twinge of jealousy – and, this time, she had to admit that the feeling was genuine. _I cannot imagine Kurt being with his commanding officer…but they may not always have been captain and major._ She had no idea of the sort of woman Kurt found beautiful; as far as she knew, he had not had any romances in the time he’d been stationed in Serene. _But he’s a soldier, and he certainly isn’t sworn to celibacy. There has to have been someone, if only the women of the Coin brothel, or some fellow soldier seeking to share his company._

 _Sieglinde was stationed in Serene until five years ago,_ a nagging voice in the back of her mind said, and she found it hard to push away. _They are very clearly friends. Perhaps they were more._ _If she’s the sort of woman he likes, I would never be able to compare._ Sieglinde reminded her of Kurt: she had a naturally stern appearance, with a diagonal scar that cut from the top of her left cheekbone to the corner of the right side of her chin, and another on her forehead. Her hair was entirely silver, and she had thick eyebrows above close-set gray eyes, a hawklike nose, and a high forehead: certainly not conventionally beautiful, but authoritative and powerful. She was of average height, but strong, all solid muscle on a compact frame. _We are nothing alike._ De Sardet was taller than average, but slender and small-breasted; her features were delicate, her birthmark her most prominent feature. _If that is the sort of woman he prefers…_

“Sieglinde appears to know you well, and to have a lot of respect for you,” she ventured as they stepped into the sunlight, walking toward the Silver District.

“We fought together,” Kurt replied. “That brings people closer, you know that.” He startled, eyeing her for a moment before adding quickly, “But I can assure you that’s all there is to it!”

De Sardet felt her cheeks redden as she heard the amusement in his voice. _He knows what I meant._

She thought Kurt saw her embarrassment as well, because he added, “Actually, up until now, I fought by your side more often than I have hers!”

“Yet you still manage to surprise me,” she said.

That drew a smile from him. “I certainly hope so! Just as you surprise me often.” He hesitated, but ventured, “Finding new pleasure in discovering aspects of one another’s personality is half the fun of a relationship…isn’t it?”

 _A relationship,_ she thought, and her heart beat a little faster. “It is,” she agreed. “When I think of how much I’ve learned of you since we arrived on the island…”

“There are things I wish you hadn’t had to learn,” he said, and she saw his expression darken. “I’m sorry to have burdened you with all of this. It’s bad enough, remembering what happened, but—”

“It’s a burden you shouldn’t have to bear alone,” she interrupted. “Sieglinde is right. Keeping quiet and pretending nothing ever happened won’t help anything. I’m here, and if I can do anything to help, then I am happy to listen.”

“You have always protected me, but you don’t have to protect me from this. I want to help…if there is anything I can do…please, don’t shut me out,” she managed, struggling to find the right words. She looked up at him, and wished that she knew what to say.

 _I am the legate of the Merchant Congregation; I should know what to say._ But emotion threatened to overwhelm her, taking her words away. “I know that I cannot change the past, but going forward, in the future…you will not be alone,” de Sardet promised. Reaching out, she took his hand, squeezing it; in the afternoon sunlight of the Silver District, with the well-to-do of New Serene and their servants walking around them, it was a daring gesture, but not half as daring as she wanted to be. _I wish I could give him a hug. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and tell him it will be all right._ She wished she knew if Kurt would have welcomed such a gesture. _If I knew it would make him feel better, I would do it here and now, and let the city talk._

But she felt better when Kurt grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you, Green Blood. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You aren’t,” she reassured him. “You could never be a burden to me. You are my—my dearest friend.”

Hearing that, Kurt looked surprised; his mouth opened slightly, and his eyes met hers. “And you are mine.” He paused. “It’s strange, isn’t it? In Serene, I never would have thought it possible.”

“I’m glad we came here,” she said. “I’m sorry that you had to find out what Torsten was doing, but—”

“If I hadn’t found it out, he would have kept doing it,” he replied, and his voice grew rough. He blinked, and de Sardet saw that his eyes had taken on a wet sheen. “It’s better this way. We’ve stopped him. You don’t know how much that means to me, Green Blood. Your help…your friendship. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replied, then hesitated. “If you want to talk…I know you probably don’t want to, but if you think it would help…I know you’re hesitant to speak in front of the others.”

“Most of them don’t understand,” he replied. “They can’t. The sailor knows a little more, but…”

“You can speak with me any time you need to,” she said. “Come to my office whenever you feel the need; don’t worry about interrupting me, there’s never anything important in those papers. Or you can tell me that you need to speak with me about a matter with the palace guard, if we’re with others and you want privacy. You can say that Constantin has gotten himself into some trouble and would prefer it remain secret; no one will question that.”

Kurt smiled. “They certainly won’t. Though our little governor has surprised me! He’s managed to keep himself out of trouble so far.” 

“He insists that things are different here,” de Sardet agreed, but refused to be distracted. “Any time you want to speak with me, if there is anything I can do, anything at all…please, do not hesitate. It pains me to think of how long you’ve suffered alone with this, told by your superiors that you should bury the past and pretend it never happened. I will gladly listen, and do whatever I can to help.”

“Thank—” he began, then stopped. “I will,” he promised. “You are truly the best of friends.” He paused, then ducked his head, looking so vulnerable that de Sardet wanted nothing more than to gather him into her arms and promise him everything would be all right. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he began uncertainly, “but—”

“Anything,” she blurted, surprising even herself with how forceful she sounded. “I told you, all you need do is ask.”

“What I’ve told you, about what happened on the continent…don’t tell Constantin,” he said. “Not everything, at least. He’d only make light of it. I don’t trust him to understand, not the way the sailor does, or even the pretty twig…certainly not like you. And I don’t trust him not to talk about it.”

De Sardet’s first impulse was to defend her cousin, as she always had, but that impulse died away remarkably quickly. “You are right,” she realized, and that realization stung. “I believe Constantin would be more understanding than you give him credit for…you know how he sympathized with Jonas, when we found him in Serene. But…” She remembered the torture chamber they’d found, with manacles and knives, and remembered the way Kurt had rubbed at the faded scars on one wrist, and then remembered the way Constantin had so casually spoken of Vasco’s scars after seeing Kurt’s.

 _He would speak of it openly; he would not see a reason to be ashamed, and he would not understand Kurt’s feelings._ “Constantin has never been good at keeping secrets, especially those that are not his own,” she admitted. _And he has never cared for others’ feelings the way he has cared for mine._ Too often, he’d spoken as if Kurt had no feelings to hurt. _Kurt has always pretended to be colder than he is, but I think that Constantin has believed him._

“These are your memories,” she told him, “your experiences. You are the only one who has the right to decide who they are shared with. I promise you, I will not tell Constantin anything that you do not, and anything you share with me will remain entirely between us.” It felt strange to make that promise: she had rarely kept anything from her beloved cousin, their lives so completely intertwined that concealment felt like a lie.

But it also felt right to do so, especially when she saw Kurt’s relief. “Thank you, Green Blood,” he said. “I know you’re not used to keeping anything from him, but…it’s been hard to speak of this to anyone, even you, and you are the kindest, most gracious person I know.”

She felt the color rising to her cheeks, and felt her heart beat a little faster despite herself; it made her feel foolish. “You are right,” she said. “It pains me to admit it, but Constantin is not always thoughtful, especially when it comes to others.” _To those he sees as beneath him._ He had never come to look at Kurt as anything more than a hired guard; he was a familiar face, but Constantin was as often contemptuous of his presence as he was glad of it. “This has been painful enough. I would not want him to cause you any more pain, however small it might be compared to what you have already been through.” 

_Kurt has always protected me; if I can protect him with my silence, I will do so._ It hurt to realize that her cousin was not always the person she wished him to be, not as careful with others’ feelings as she would have desired, and she hoped that Constantin’s reaction to whatever Kurt chose to tell him would help prove them both wrong. _I hope he will be gracious and kind…that he will not make light of anything he learns._

“Do you think he’ll able to do something?” Kurt asked. “Even you can’t put an end to this on your own. We need the governor’s power.”

“I hope he will,” de Sardet replied. “We’ll speak with him as soon as we can. It might be too late for an audience tonight, especially if he has

“Tomorrow,” said Kurt. “If we have urgent meetings with Sieglinde and Constantin the same day we’ve returned from that damned camp, it’ll arouse suspicions.”

“I’m sure that the very act of shutting down that camp will alert Torsten to what’s gone on. Surely it won’t be long before he learns that Rolf and the others are dead.” A sudden jolt of fear shot through her. “If he learns that you killed him, will you be in trouble? I would be happy to say that I—”

“Sieglinde will take care of it,” he reassured her. “None of those boys would say anything. Rolf was their tormentor, their nightmare.” He’d spoken to each of the recruits in that camp, watching them closely; he’d wanted to make sure that none of them had secretly come to idolize Rolf, or internalize the poisonous lessons he’d tried to impart. _Rolf came to believe what Hermann said. So did a few others who survived that damn camp…not many, but even that barest handful was too many._ But none of the ghost camp recruits on Teer Fradee seemed to have fallen victim to that perverse mindset; they had all been terrified of Rolf, and glad that his death had freed them from that living hell.

“Are you sure?” De Sardet was still terrified. “If they were to court-martial you for his death…if Torsten was to seek vengeance instead of justice…”

Kurt saw her fear. “I’ll be fine, Green Blood,” he reassured her. “What Rolf was doing to those recruits was illegal. I tried to arrest him, following our code of justice, and he resisted arrest. I was well within my rights to do what I did. Even if they court-martialed me for it, I’m not guilty of anything.”

“But Torsten—”

“I hope that after tomorrow, Torsten won’t be a problem.”


	70. Torsten's Plot

They met with Constantin the next day: a private meeting in Constantin’s upper chambers instead of the throne room. The governor’s suites contained a library that doubled as a parlor and a study, an enormous room with a fireplace crackling at one end.

“This is far more private than the throne room,” Constantin told them. “There are guards at the entrance to my suite, but none near enough to listen in…though I must confess, I am curious about what has warranted such secrecy.” Vasco had checked outside as they’d gone in, making sure no one was nearby, and Aphra had promised to keep watch to make sure no one else approached. “I understand you were investigating the circumstances of the death of Kurt’s recruit.”

“Reiner,” Kurt said hoarsely. De Sardet watched him, worried.

“Yes, Reiner,” Constantin echoed, not seeming to notice Kurt’s grief. “What did you find?”

“It was worse than I could have imagined,” said de Sardet. “It turned out that this camp was a training camp for new recruits…all of them teenagers between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. They were the most promising of the recruits to arrive on Teer Fradee, hand-picked by their commanding officers.”

“An elite training camp,” said Constantin. “What is so terrible about that?”

“It wasn’t a training camp,” Kurt snarled, and de Sardet was reminded of the blind rage she’d seen in his eyes when they’d first learned of what Rolf was doing. “It was a torture camp. Sir.”

“Torture? But you said—”

“They tortured the recruits in an attempt to break their will,” de Sardet explained. “They wished to mold them into their commander’s vision of an ideal soldier, an elite regiment that would do whatever he wished…ranging from lightning raids on merchants to stealth attacks, perhaps even assassinations. In order to do that, they tortured them until they would be willing to obey. There were beatings, whippings…some of the bodies we saw looked as if they had been flayed, others burned.”

“They’d tie them to a cross and threaten them with a flaying knife or hot irons while interrogating them,” said Kurt. “It was meant to make them more resistant to questioning if they were captured…though they were also supposed to choose death before capture, if it came to that.” Again, his hand went to his wrist, rubbing it, and de Sardet wished she could send him away, tell him that he didn’t have to relive his worst memories in order to help the recruits they’d found.

“Recruits were starved and confined in cells, forced to march until they fainted from heatstroke or dehydration or sheer exhaustion, made to drill with immense amounts of weight on their backs until they collapsed…and then were punished if their bodies gave way beneath the strain,” said de Sardet. “They were tormented by their lieutenants…and if they reacted to that torment, if they attempted to fight back or even spoke out against what was happening, they were sent to so-called ‘night training,’ where their fellow recruits were forced to beat them, sometimes to death.”

“That’s what happened to Reiner,” Kurt said softly. “He fought back, and they killed him for it.”

“Are you certain?” Constantin asked, looking utterly appalled. “What evidence do you have?”

Kurt bristled. “What, do you think I’d lie about this?”

“It is a tremendous accusation,” said Constantin. “The idea that the Coin Guard set up a secret fortress on Congregation territory to torture its own recruits…do you know how great a scandal it will be?”

“Fuck _scandal_ ,” Kurt spat. “Scandal is what happens when some noble gets another noble’s wife with child, or when a merchant goes bankrupt because he can’t pay his debts. This is a crime, and Torsten has to pay.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” Constantin demanded, sounding offended; he drew himself up in his chair, leaning forward. “If I might remind you, I am the governor of New Serene.”

“So govern,” Kurt snapped. De Sardet had never seen Kurt so upset with Constantin; nor had she seen him speak so freely, without the usual reserve and respect that governed the way he usually spoke to him. “I don’t have the power to take Torsten down. You do. So do it.”

“You would give me orders? I think you’ve forgotten which of us is the Coin Guard and which is the governor!”

“Constantin!” De Sardet stepped forward, intervening. “Kurt is trying to protect you. What is wrong with you?”

Constantin reeled, looking at her. “What is wrong with _me_? All I did was ask for proof. The magnitude of this accusation—”

“He isn’t lying,” de Sardet said, upset. “Constantin, we saw it. I know it seems too terrible to be true, but we spoke with the recruits, saw the dungeons, the instruments of torture, the bodies of the dead recruits…there were so many of them,” she said, faltering.

“It was barbaric,” Petrus spoke up. “There was a torture chamber the Ordo Luminis would have taken pride in. The boys in that camp were terrified.”

“They did not want to speak,” Siora agreed. “They would tremble like leaves when Kurt or Alexandra asked them questions.”

“Only one was brave enough to say anything,” said Vasco. “Wilhem.”

“They would have killed him for speaking to us,” said Kurt. His anger had subsided; she wasn’t sure if it was Constantin’s reprimand or his own pain, but he was noticeably subdued as he said, “They summoned him to night training. We put an end to it…and to that damned camp.”

“We did,” de Sardet agreed; her heart went out to Kurt as she heard him speak, and she couldn’t help but feel upset with her cousin. _Why could he not have more sympathy? Even if he does not suspect what happened to Kurt in his own training, surely he must see his grief for Reiner, and for the recruits we could not save._ “We attempted to arrest the outpost captain and his lieutenants, but they fought back.”

“They tried to convince the recruits to fight for them, but Kurt talked them down,” said Vasco.

“So did Green Blood. She’s more eloquent than I am.”

“But you knew what to say,” de Sardet spoke up, refusing to let Kurt give her the credit. “They knew that you were there to help them. You spoke to them of the ideals of the Coin Guard, of your shared experiences, of Wilhem…without you, they would never have listened to me.” She looked to Constantin, hoping to make him understand. “Kurt was truly a hero.”

Constantin frowned. “One who put your life in danger to shut this camp down. If those soldiers hadn’t listened—”

“We could have killed them all easily,” Aphra volunteered. “They were little more than children. I don’t believe any of them were older than eighteen.”

“I think we’re all glad that did not prove necessary,” said Vasco. “But de Sardet is right. Kurt was a hero.”

“What we saw there was highly upsetting to all of us,” Petrus added, and de Sardet was glad to see her friends coming to Kurt’s defense. “I believe it was most upsetting of all to Captain Kurt. After all, such a camp goes against all of the ideals of his guild…and learning that such an atrocity was perpetrated by the highest-ranking member of the Coin Guard on this island was as much a shock to him as it would be to me if I discovered Cornelia was secretly a High Inquisitor of the Ordo Luminis.”

“You should not question his word,” Siora said. “You ask for proof? We all saw it. Kurt is right; you must act, or you will be no _mal_ to your people. Would you call us all liars, _renaigse_? Including your own cousin?”

“Of course not,” Constantin said. “I would never question the word of my fair cousin! It is only…” He played with a frayed string of gold brocade on his doublet. “This will mean trouble. The Coin Guard having a camp like this…if it was only a training camp, there would be nothing I could do about it, even if the camp’s officers were engaging in a certain…excess of enthusiasm while disciplining their recruits.”

“This was far more than that,” Aphra said. De Sardet was surprised to hear the Bridge Alliance scientist speak up; Aphra had spent most of their time in the camp watching in appalled silence, observing without saying anything. “This camp…it was truly appalling, Your Excellency. This wasn’t a matter of some recruits being drilled too strenuously; this was torture, calculated cruelty designed to break them both physically and psychologically. You could not have designed an experiment that would have been more efficacious.”

“Even so,” said Constantin. “If this was a matter of the Coin Guard harming its own, and only that, there wouldn’t be much I could do directly. The Coin Guard is an independent mercenary guild, contracted by the Merchant Congregation, but allowed a certain degree of autonomy in its day-to-day operations. We allow the Coin Guard to discipline its own troops, train its people in the manner it sees fit, and act according to its own chain of command, just as we do with the Nauts. We may employ them, but I am limited in my ability to punish them.” Constantin nodded to Petrus. “Bishop Petrus, is that not the same in Theleme? Even your feared inquisitors are limited in what they can do to them.”

“The Ordo Luminis has a tacit agreement not to interfere with the Nauts or the Coin Guard,” Petrus acknowledged. “Occasionally, some poor sailor or wayward soldier may end up on the pyre, but generally the Ordo acknowledges that it is better not to incur the enmity of those we employ for their services.”

“It happens,” said Kurt. “Some poor bastard gets caught with a heretical tract and ends up in the flames. I saw it happen.”

“But not often,” said Petrus, “and such incidents strain the good relationship between the Coin Guard and its employers.”

“We have to take care here, cousin,” said Constantin. “We do not have soldiers of our own, as Theleme and the Bridge Alliance do. The Coin Guard is our sole means of protection.”

“Both the Bridge Alliance and Theleme rely heavily on the Coin Guard on Teer Fradee as well,” said Petrus. “There are very limited contingents of soldiers, at least in Theleme’s service, but the bulk of our own conscripts serve in the wars on the continent.”

“If you had placed this Captain Rolf and his lieutenants under arrest, I would have had to turn them over to Commander Torsten for court-martial,” said Constantin. “By the terms of our arrangement with the Coin Guard, I could not have them tried under Congregation law…and I would have no reason! Whatever crimes they committed were against their fellow Coin Guards.”

“What happens when their commander is involved?” Vasco asked, folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t expect Torsten to bring anyone to justice when he’s the one giving the orders.”

“How do you know Commander Torsten is involved? Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. We searched the papers of the camp’s leader, a Captain Rolf,” said de Sardet. “I brought those papers with me.”

“They are highly incriminating,” said Petrus. “They implicate a number of powerful members of the Coin Guard in the formation of this camp, and prove that they were aware of the deaths and the reasons for them. Major Ermengarde of Hikmet, Major Hermann of San Matheus…and Commander Torsten himself.”

“Torsten knew about this camp,” said Kurt. “I don’t know what he was planning to do with these recruits, but it wasn’t good. He’s been using them to raid merchant caravans to get more weapons, stationing them around the governors…he didn’t name names, but it shouldn’t take much to figure out which of the palace guards did a stint at that camp. Some of the recruits from that ghost camp could probably point them out.”

“If you went to him, he might sacrifice a pawn or two…or, more likely, place the blame entirely on those officers who are already dead,” said Petrus. “He will not offer you anyone more powerful.” He frowned. “Major Hermann is well-known in San Matheus. He is a renowned hero of the Red Sun Regiment, having won several victories on the continent.”

“Kurt?” De Sardet saw Kurt’s reaction as Petrus mentioned the major: his eyes were fixed on the floor, his breathing hard. His hands were balled into fists, hard enough to make his knuckles blanch white, and if she looked closely, she thought she could see him trembling. She edged closer to him, hoping that no one else would notice. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Major Hermann has many friends among the powerful, both within the clergy and the nobility,” Petrus continued. “I fear that any attempt to bring him to justice would undoubtedly be thwarted by the major’s friends…and that is if Torsten would agree to turn him over in the first place. I have read their correspondence; they are quite friendly.”

“Kurt,” de Sardet murmured again. This time, he looked up, and she saw the anguish in his eyes.

“They were friends,” he breathed, then seemed to snap himself out of it. “Don’t worry about me, Green Blood. It’s just…I’m a damned fool.” He swallowed hard, and she heard him mutter. “…so stupid. So naïve…”

She wanted to console him, but there was no time; Petrus was finishing detailing what he knew about Major Hermann, and de Sardet knew that Kurt would not want to draw attention to himself. She thought that Vasco had noticed Kurt’s distress as well; looking to Aphra, he asked, “Do you know anything about Hermann’s counterpart in Hikmet, this Major Ermengarde?”

Aphra supplied a little of what she knew about Major Ermengarde: that she had taken command of the Green-Azure a few years ago, that she was Torsten’s hand-picked candidate to replace the previous major, that everyone in Hikmet knew the two were close. “I’m afraid I don’t know much else about the Coin Guard. I have never paid attention to them,” Aphra admitted.

“We should all have paid closer attention,” said Petrus. “If the Coin Guard is indeed plotting something beneath all our noses, I am sure we will regret not having paid them any mind!”

Constantin’s brow knit. “You think this is part of a larger plot?”

“It must be,” said de Sardet. “Commander Torsten is training these recruits for a purpose. He is creating his own private army of assassins, boys who have been trained only to obey, whatever their orders might be.”

“But what could he be planning on doing?”

“I don’t know,” de Sardet admitted. “He seems intent on stationing his men around each of the governors…in the cities, particularly in the palaces. Whatever he intends, that cannot bode well.” 

“Perhaps he intends a kidnapping,” Petrus suggested. “He may wish to hold you hostage in exchange for ransom.”

“As if we don’t pay them enough? The Coin Guard’s contracts are already exorbitant.”

Kurt snorted despite himself. “I’d beg to differ. Considering the protection we provide—”

“Protection? Or plots?” Constantin challenged.

“I don’t know what he’s doing, and it bothers me,” said Kurt.

“We took his correspondence from the camp, but it stated nothing outright,” de Sardet added. “It felt as if Torsten and his subordinates were all being circumspect, but many of them were implicated: Major Ermengarde and Major Hermann of the Green-Azure and Red Sun Regiments both wrote to Captain Rolf, as did Commander Hermann himself.”

“What of anyone else in New Serene?”

“Commander Torsten appears to have been Rolf’s primary contact in this city, but he referenced several lieutenants who knew of what they were doing,” said de Sardet. “Specifically, Lieutenants Olga, Ludger, and Werner.”

“Werner’s the one who was in charge of burying Reiner, before I took the detail from him,” said Kurt. “And Ludger’s the one who arrested that native hunter.” He frowned. “I don’t know much about Olga, but I’ve seen her around the barracks, being cruel to the recruits in the name of keeping order. One of the recruits who helped me find this camp said she warned them off of asking about it.”

“But no one of higher rank,” said Constantin. “No captains.”

“The commander himself is involved. What higher rank do you want?” Kurt demanded.

“If the commander has only involved some lieutenants…have you thought that perhaps there is some involvement with this camp and that extortion ring you were investigating? Perhaps Torsten is this ‘Egon,’ and this camp was designed to create a shadow regiment of bandits and smugglers,” Constantin suggested. He brightened. “I may have solved this entire mystery!”

Kurt was skeptical. “How so?”

“Your Commander Torsten wanted to create a shadow regiment,” said Constantin. De Sardet winced as he spoke; she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, but she also saw how Kurt flinched when Constantin said ‘ _your_ Commander Torsten,’ as if he’d been slapped.

“This shadow regiment would attack caravans, extort merchants, and generally create crime and danger on the island, both in the cities and without. The commander would need to smuggle weapons to arm them, since being caught with weapons that could be traced to the Coin Guard would be highly incriminating. That explains the weapons-smuggling, the secrecy, and the training: they would need stealth for their raids on the caravans, if nothing else.”

Constantin swept a hand out, gesturing animatedly as he did whenever he was caught up in spinning out one of his tales. “Commander Torsten has created this shadow regiment and set it to terrorize the countryside, as well as the cities…I have not heard whether or not this Egon and his men of the silver coin are operating in San Matheus and Hikmet, but it would not surprise me! Not only does the money from those extortionate enterprises serve to line the pockets of the commander and his cronies, this regiment’s depredations also serve to make us feel there is a greater need for the ordinary Coin Guard to combat them! Before long, all three nations will feel the need for more city guards to defend the merchants, more patrols to protect the roads…and with so many threats, the Coin Guard would undoubtedly wish to renegotiate the terms of its contract to command a higher price.”

“Commander Torsten therefore enriches himself with his illicit gains, and the Coin Guard with better contracts for its mercenary services…which will undoubtedly garner him recognition from his own superiors, should he desire a promotion! Ta-daa!” Constantin said brightly, as if he’d unraveled some riddle at a party, instead of speaking of a potential plot that had caused the deaths of dozens. “Don’t you think that’s a fine solution, cousin? There is your answer to all of this!”

“It would explain the smuggling,” Vasco said reluctantly. “And the Coin Guards we stopped in that extortion scheme were dressed like bandits, though I don’t know if their weapons were standard-issue.”

“I did not examine all of the bodies,” said Kurt. “The one I looked at wasn’t carrying a _zweihander_ , and his pistol certainly wasn’t standard-issue, but that doesn’t mean anything. Plenty of men keep weapons they’ve taken off of bandits or confiscated from smugglers themselves, if they’re better than the ones they have…and others win them while betting at the tavern or from informal bets in the Coin Arena.”

“But he could have been carrying weapons that Commander Torsten had smuggled in for that purpose! They were not wearing anything that could be traced back to the Coin Guard.”

“No,” Kurt conceded. “But I don’t think you’re right…sir,” he added. “I know I don’t have proof, but this feels bigger.”

“Why would Commander Torsten be so concerned about placing men around the governors?” de Sardet asked. “That is the part that concerns me the most, Constantin. Why would he want to station men within the palace?”

“Surely you must understand the advantages of having someone in the palace! I’m certain that Commander Torsten would like to place men close to me so that he can spy on us! He’ll want to know what we know of Egon and his criminal endeavors, and I’m sure he’ll have ordered his men to report back the instant that he thinks we suspect the truth. Not to mention the wealth of information they can procure by spying on us! If Torsten is attacking merchant caravans, he can have his men listen for courtiers talking about the latest arrivals and departures…if he wishes to intercept arms shipments, then there are certainly discussions about those among the merchants who visit, asking for my favor. The palace is the heart of the city, my dear cousin; there is no question as to why the commander would want to station his spies here!”

“But this plan,” de Sardet persisted. “They speak of being ready to act soon. What can they be plotting? Major Hermann promised Rolf that he too would be a major soon if he obeyed.”

“The empty promises and flattery of an officer encouraging his subordinate,” Constantin said breezily. “He certainly didn’t mean anything by it! Unless he thinks that he too will be promoted, and that this Rolf would have been able to step into his shoes.”

Again, Kurt had gone very quiet, and de Sardet could not help but worry. “It sounds worse than that,” she said. “What if their crimes are leading to something flagrant? A kidnapping, perhaps?”

Aphra nodded. “If you were taken and held for ransom, it would undoubtedly convince the Congregation that more guards were needed.”

“Or it would convince us that the Coin Guard is entirely incompetent!” said Constantin. “That would not suit their aims, I am sure. Besides, I could fight them off!”

“As you did in Serene?” Vasco asked. Constantin gave him a wounded look. “I heard the tale of how your cousin and Kurt came to save you a dozen times during our voyage…and those bandits were not trained members of the Coin Guard, let alone of a special shadow regiment.”

“This shadow regiment is nothing more than a group of terrorized boys, if what you say is true,” said Constantin.

“Terrorized boys who have had the conscience beaten from them, and who are trained to become experts in stealth, assassination, and hand-to-hand fighting,” said Petrus. “We found documents detailing their training regimen. They seem quite skilled…at least, those who survived.”

“I do not believe that they are coming to kidnap me! Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, I have perfectly unraveled this scheme. Tell me, cousin, can you find any fault with my explanations?”

“Only that it does not explain this line about being ready to act soon,” said de Sardet. “It feels to me as if there is some greater plot that has not yet transpired.”

“Then we will keep our eyes open, and be ready when it comes! I will listen for any reports of attacks in the wilderness, or some great resurgence of Egon’s men with their silver coins…or maybe piracy! Maybe that is the great action they’re speaking of. Can you imagine the outrage from the Nauts if Egon’s men raided their warehouses? Or…” Constantin’s eyes lit up, as if he was describing an adventure novel. “What if he took one of their ships?”

“I don’t think you’re right,” de Sardet said.

“I agree. This doesn’t feel right,” said Kurt. “Whatever Torsten’s planning, it isn’t over.”

“Especially since he can’t know what’s happened to the ghost camp yet,” said Aphra. “Once he discovers that he won’t be receiving any more trainees…let alone that the camp was shut down by Kurt and Legate de Sardet…”

“That may discourage him,” said Petrus.

“Or it may provoke him into accelerating his plan,” Aphra argued. “If he knows he has been discovered, what is to keep him from acting?”

“He won’t know what we know,” said Petrus. “He will have to know that we have access to all of Captain Rolf’s letters, and he will not know if we managed to get the captain to speak before dying. The same is true of his lieutenants, if they were in possession of any greater intelligence for this plan.”

“So he may be likely to abandon his greater plans entirely,” Constantin concluded. “You see, cousin, you have nothing left to worry about! Don’t let Kurt’s fretting upset you.”

De Sardet wasn’t convinced, but she knew Constantin well enough to know that he would never be persuaded. _He believes he has it all figured out, and he will not listen to anyone who says otherwise…even me._

“Even if you’re right, Torsten’s still responsible for that camp,” Kurt said. “He has to pay.”

“And he will! But only once we’ve gathered enough evidence to make the case irrefutable. Kurt, you do not understand politics! Commander Torsten is the head of his guild on Teer Fradee; he reports to Governor Burhan and the Mother Cardinal Cornelia as well as myself, and yet is not quite subordinate to any of us. If I am to arrest him, there must be an ironclad case…one that will not provoke international outrage, or result in him being freed immediately.”

“We’ll find that evidence,” de Sardet said. “Major Sieglinde knows, and she will help.”

“I will also write to Cornelia…discreetly, of course,” Petrus offered. “I will tell her some of what we have learned…enough to imply that there is significant corruption within the Coin Guard, perhaps enough to pose a threat to our power. I do not know that she would act against Major Hermann, but she can at least be made aware that he may not be acting in Theleme’s best interests.”

“If you think it will help!” said Constantin. “It will take time, of course, and patience…and in the meantime, cousin, would you stay with me for supper? I’ve missed the pleasure of your company, and a family supper with just the two of us would certainly go a long way toward restoring my spirits.”

De Sardet half-wanted to refuse, or at least to ask him if her friends could stay; part of her did not want to leave Kurt alone. Part of her wanted to refuse for her own sake: she was exhausted after the day’s events. After following Kurt to the clearing where they had rescued Wilhem, she had stayed awake long enough to make sure that he’d truly fallen asleep before closing her own eyes to rest. _Awake at dawn to leave the ghost camp, traveling back to New Serene, meeting with Sieglinde and then Constantin…_ It was all she could do to stifle a yawn.

“We have been apart for so long,” he went on. “Surely you would not deprive me of the pleasure of your company?”

De Sardet couldn’t help but glance at Kurt, who was looking firmly ahead, the stern look of the old palace master-at-arms set upon his face. She knew what he would say if she asked now: he would tell her to go in that same flat voice he’d used in Torsten’s presence, acting as if his feelings did not matter, or as if he had no feelings at all.

“Go on, _carants_ ,” Siora said, then leaned over, whispering, “We will make sure he is all right.”

“Don’t worry about leaving us behind,” Vasco said. “We’re likely to turn in early; it’s been a long day.”

“Are you sure?” de Sardet asked.

“Certain,” he said, then raised his eyebrows at Constantin. “Some of us know when we are not wanted.”

“And here I thought I was the one who was not wanted,” Constantin shot back.

Vasco refused to be drawn in. “I’m speaking of sharing a meal, nothing more.”

“How disappointing.” Constantin turned back to de Sardet. “But I will be delighted to share a meal with you once more, my fair cousin! I have missed you so. It felt as if you had scarcely set foot in the city before you were rushing away again. I cannot spend a day in your presence without fearing that some new duty will call you away from the city!”

De Sardet sighed; she saw how eager Constantin was, and she knew she could not disappoint him. “I will be glad to spend the evening with you,” she replied.

“Then we will leave you to it,” Petrus spoke up, the ever-gracious diplomat. “I hope that you will both have a pleasant meal.”

“I hope you do the same,” de Sardet said. She looked to Petrus, wishing she could tell him openly to look after Kurt. _He is not at all religious, but he may confide in a priest, even if he will not speak to anyone else. The priests of Theleme are bound by a promise of silence when acting as the ear of the Enlightened._

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw Petrus give her the slightest of nods, and saw an understanding look in his eye that made her hope he knew what she wanted. _I hope they will all look after him. He shouldn’t be alone now…and Constantin’s callousness cannot have helped matters._

“We will see you tonight, _carants_ ,” said Siora.

“Don’t feel obliged to wait up for her!”

Constantin laughed again and smiled at Siora, but Siora glared at him in return. “Do not keep her up late,” she said. “We have had a long day of travel, and she has been hard at work. She will need her rest.”

“It seems you’ve found yourself a second guardian,” Constantin said, undaunted by Siora’s fierce protectiveness. “I promise that I will not overtax her!”

To de Sardet’s surprise, Siora leaned over to give her a hug goodbye – and then she realized why she had done so when she felt Siora’s branches brush up against the side of her head as Siora’s lips brushed her ear. “Do not worry, _carants_. He will not be alone.”

That made her feel better as the others filed out. Once they were gone, Constantin rose from his seat, bounding down the dais to give her a hug of his own. “I’ve missed you so much! My days are spent in tedious meetings with de Courcillon, Vaillancourt, or de Morange, and my evenings are spent wining and dining the prominent members of the city merchants’ guild, Father Petrus’s lackeys in the diplomatic delegation from San Matheus, or whatever emissary Governor Burhan has sent from Hikmet, since he does not seem willing to designate a proper ambassador as the Mother Cardinal has.”

“Aphra says he will not risk displeasing his superiors on the continent,” de Sardet offered.

“Be that as it may, it means that I am forced to deal with underlings who are competing with each other for power and influence, hoping to win their governor’s favor by outfoxing me! I’ve dealt with them all, of course, but there are only so many obsequious courtiers one can entertain before they grow tiresome.” As they moved upstairs to his private dining room, he said, “There has been the occasional scholar from Hikmet to request patronage, now that the news of your daring rescue of the scholars has begun to spread, and there are always courtiers seeking favors or merchants asking for the sponsorship of some business venture, but they all share one thing in common: they all want something from me. Not from me, of course, but from the governor of New Serene, or the heir of the Prince d’Orsay, or the noble scion of the Congregation.”

“I don’t know how you do it! As governor, they are all obliged to treat me with the utmost deference, and I can dismiss them when I grow tired…but as legate, I know you must treat them with greater respect. A governor is permitted to be short-tempered or irritable; a legate must always be diplomatic.”

They entered Constantin’s suite and settled down to dinner; to de Sardet’s surprise, the table was already laid out for two, with one place at the head of the table and the other just to the right. “When you sent word asking for an immediate audience, I decided then that you would stay for dinner. Just the two of us, of course. It’s been far too long since we’ve had any time alone together!”

“It has,” she agreed, but part of her couldn’t help but worry. _I wish that he had not insisted on it being the two of us. Not tonight._ She knew that Siora, Vasco, and Petrus would make sure that Kurt was not left alone, but her heart ached for him. _He won’t speak so freely to them…not the way he did to me. He looks after Siora almost as if he’s her older brother, just as he looked after me and Constantin in Serene when we were younger._ De Sardet didn’t think that he would speak to Siora of the worst torments of the ghost camp. _He might speak to Vasco, but he won’t want him to think he’s asking for pity…and he certainly won’t want Vasco to compare the Coin Guard unfavorably to the Nauts. Kurt_ _has comforted me so often, I can’t help but feel I’ve abandoned him. He’s always been so kind to me. I should not be here now._

“You look upset,” Constantin said as the servants entered with the first course, a creamy white soup filled with seafood and richly seasoned with pepper. “If it is this matter of the Coin Guard, rest assured that we will get to the bottom of it! I am sure that it is not as bad as you fear.”

“How can you say that?” De Sardet waited until the servants left to speak; she could not help but worry that one or more might be sympathetic to Torsten’s plans. _If Commander Torsten has planted his own guards in the palace, then what is to stop him from bribing servants?_ She remembered what Kurt had said about Torsten’s populist rhetoric. _Servants are as likely as guards to believe that they are being ill-treated. If they are truly plotting some sort of kidnapping or ransom…_

“I say that because we know their plans, and they do not yet know that we know,” Constantin said as they ate. “That alone is worth something, don’t you think?”

“We don’t know what they’re planning,” she answered. “All we know is that these soldiers are being trained in matters of stealth, assassination, and lightning strikes; more than that, they are being trained to obey without question, regardless of their orders.”

“That might not be a bad thing! After hearing how roughly Kurt dared question me today, I can’t help but feel that he might have benefited from such training.”

De Sardet dropped her spoon; it clattered loudly as it fell against her bread plate. “Don’t say that.” She felt a sudden rush of relief that Kurt hadn’t stayed for supper, but it wasn’t enough to outweigh her anger at hearing Constantin’s unthinking words.

“Don’t be so upset. It was a jest—”

“You didn’t see that camp,” de Sardet said. She knew she could not tell Constantin of Kurt’s experiences; she would not betray his confidence, especially when she had to admit that his fears seemed well-founded. “No one would benefit from such cruelty. They were boys, Constantin, and they were tortured…sometimes to death. The officers of that camp forced their recruits to beat their friends to death, under the threat that if they did not comply, they would be next.” She fell silent as they both ate, but she could not help thinking of everything she had seen in the ghost camp. _If the memories of a single night are enough to haunt my dreams, what must it have done to those who lived through it?_ De Sardet again promised herself that she would make sure that the recruits who survived were given proper care.

As she finished her soup, she did her best to describe it to Constantin. “The things we saw there…the fighting rings…the terror in those recruits’ eyes when we asked what was happening…Wilhem was the only one willing to speak to us, and he was very nearly murdered for it.” De Sardet felt a lump rising in her throat as she thought of Kurt telling her that the same thing had nearly happened to him. _He was even younger then. How alone he must have felt, and how frightened…and to believe that Torsten had saved him out of kindness, only to learn that he was the perpetrator of such cruelties…_ She wished again that she was back at the legate’s house.

“Don’t cry,” Constantin said; reaching forward, he covered her hand with his. “You defeated them! You are the hero of the hour, as always. The rescuer of these recruits, as you saved the scholars and became the champion of the Coin Arena.”

De Sardet used her napkin to wipe at her eyes. “It was terrible,” she said. “I wish you had been more understanding to Kurt when he spoke of it.”

“I did not mean to accuse him of lying…or you, for that matter. But surely you must understand my need for proof! I cannot place the regional commander of the Coin Guard under arrest without provoking a diplomatic incident that would engulf all three countries on this island…not to mention the difficulties it will raise with the Coin Guard itself. It would be akin to arresting Admiral Cabral!”

“I know,” she said. “But Kurt is right. It needs to be done. We have to bring Torsten to justice.”

“What he has done is terrible,” Constantin agreed. “If nothing else, I would punish him for how upset he has made you…and, of course, for the way the officers under his command threatened you! This Captain Rolf, his lieutenants…I am glad that Kurt killed them, truly.”

“You could have thanked him for it,” she reproved him as Constantin finished his soup.

“I am grateful…but why are you so insistent on my feeling gratitude toward Kurt, of all people?” Constantin asked as the servants removed their dishes, bringing out the next course. 

“I wish you would show him more respect. The discovery of the ghost camp hurt him badly. You know he has mourned Reiner…but the thought that he recruited him, only to send him to his death in that camp…”

“That’s no excuse for the way he acted today.”

“The way he acted? He learned that his commanding officer, a man he thought he respected, is a criminal responsible for the torture and murder of countless recruits, including one who he cared for deeply.”

“What, were they lovers?”

“Reiner was fifteen,” de Sardet protested. “You cannot be serious.” She thought of how horrified Kurt would be by the accusation, and how hurt. _The idea that he would ever abuse a child in his care in that way, or manipulate someone under his command…he would be appalled at the very thought._

“Trust me, I’m not,” Constantin replied, then laughed. “Kurt always did insist he preferred women, but I never saw any evidence of it!”

“He’s a very private person.”

“Has he ever visited a brothel while he’s been with you? Taken advantage of Lieutenant Dieter’s lovely girls? Or perhaps one of the establishments in San Matheus or Hikmet?”

“No,” de Sardet replied instantly, then amended, “At least, not to my knowledge.” But she knew better: she had almost always been at Kurt’s side, no matter which city they were in. “I would not ask.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m sure you don’t want to think about it.” Constantin started to cut up his second course, some sort of waterfowl set atop a mixture of vegetables and drizzled with a savory sauce.

 _I don’t,_ de Sardet thought as she ate, _but not for the reason you think._ “I wish you’d show him more respect. At least, that you’d treat him more like an equal.”

“But he’s not. Surely you see that.”

“You’re always telling Kurt to call you by your name when we’re alone,” she said.

“Yes, but—” Constantin let out a laugh, but it rang hollow in de Sardet’s ears. “You must see that it isn’t the same. He’s still a Coin Guard, not a nobleman.”

“Neither is Vasco, and you’ve always treated him much better than Kurt.”

“Captain Vasco is not in my employ,” Constantin replied, “and you must admit, both the captain and your native friend are far more charming than Kurt!” He laughed. “Besides, if I had treated Vasco like a servant, do you think he would have agreed to share my bed?” He paused, considering. “Well, some men do like that sort of thing, but he is certainly not one of them.”

“It must have been more than that,” de Sardet persisted, despite the sinking feeling in her chest. “You treated Vasco with greater respect because you believed he deserved it.”

“He is – or was, at least – the captain of a ship, and he is younger than either of us. Would you not say that is worth respecting?”

De Sardet frowned. “How can you believe that? You act as if your respect was contingent on his captaincy…and you know the _Sea Horse_ has been taken from him.”

“You know that I do not think less of him for that,” said Constantin. “After all, his admiral likely grounded him because she learned he was attempting to learn the truth of his heritage…and that heritage means he is nobility, so he is hardly the person you’d want to compare to Kurt! Whether or not he ever chooses to reveal the truth to his family, Captain Vasco is still Sir Léandre of House d’Arcy, son of the Prince and Princess d’Arcy. Does Kurt even know who his parents are, I wonder? Likely a recruit who died in some long-ago battle and the camp follower who serviced him.” 

“His parents were both officers,” de Sardet said. “They did die in battle, but—”

“No matter!” Constantin interrupted her in a tone that indicated he was tired of the conversation. “You must see there’s no comparison.”

“All I see is that their parentage should not determine whether or not they deserve your respect,” de Sardet persisted.

“You make me sound like some sort of snob! You know I’m not. But you cannot honestly expect me to treat one of our hirelings the same way I would Lady de Morange or Bishop Petrus. Kurt knows that; he has always known his place.”

De Sardet’s heart sank. _It is how he truly feels,_ she realized. _I never knew._ “Siora is not a noblewoman of the continent,” she began, trying again.

“She is a native princess, as you have said! And a representative of her people, who I must treat with the same respect as any ambassador…though I must admit, it isn’t difficult. How could I be anything but charming in the presence of someone so exotically beautiful?”

“Exotic?” De Sardet asked; though she was still upset, she couldn’t help but feel amused by his description. “Constantin, we look alike.”

“And you know that you have never looked like anyone else! What was it you told me de Cortone said about you? That your appearance was…”

“Singular,” de Sardet said.

“Exactly! Singular. And he was right…at least, on the continent. But the similarity in your appearance is not precise; the natives’ dress, those growths…” Constantin used his fork to gesture around his head, doing his best to follow the shape of the branches that grew around the sides of Siora’s head. “Growths is not the way I ought to describe it; that sounds singularly unattractive, and our native friend is anything but!” Constantin looked longingly at the door, as if he could summon Siora by thinking about her. “She really is striking. I’ve never seen anyone quite like her. And she is nobility, in a way; did you not say that her mother was the queen of their tribe?”

“She is, but I do not believe the natives have royalty as we understand it. They elect their _mals_ ; neither Siora nor her sister will inherit their mother’s position because of their birthright.”

“Should it matter?” de Sardet pressed, still thinking of Kurt. “You’ve always said that one’s birth should not matter. Or was that only something you said to anger your father, when you chose to go to the Coin Tavern?”

Constantin looked hurt, and she regretted her words almost immediately. “I’m sorry,” she said, but then found herself questioning whether or not she truly was. “But the way you act when Kurt speaks to you—”

“Speaks to me? The insolence of his demands, his tone—” Constantin was building himself into outrage once more. “He _swore_ at me!”

“Would you call Vasco insolent? Or Siora, for that matter? Or me? That’s something you say of a servant who’s gotten above themselves, not someone you consider an equal…or a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Don’t you consider Kurt a friend? I know that he has spent most of his time with me since we came ashore, but we were together for nearly fifteen years in Serene. He taught us both.”

Constantin laughed. “Would you call Sir de Courcillon a friend? He’s taught us for even longer.”

“We are friendly,” de Sardet said. “Our former teacher, and a dear mentor.”

“But not a friend,” Constantin said. “Not someone you’d confide in, or choose to spend your hours of recreation with, or whose company you enjoy. Kurt isn’t our friend, my lucky star. He’s closer to de Courcillon…except that our teacher is of the nobility, even if they are both in my father’s employ. But he is still our hireling…and, as such, he should not be giving us commands!”

De Sardet stared at him with dismay for a long moment before finding her voice. “I do not see things in the same way,” she managed. “Not at all. I…I am happy to spend time with Kurt, and I believe he feels the same way…not because he is obligated to do so, but because we enjoy each other’s company.” She thought of the nights she’d spent in the parlor of the legate’s house with Kurt and Vasco, helping Kurt share tales of life in Serene with the Naut captain, or of suppers on the road when Kurt and Siora showed her how to cook game. “We may not have been friends in Serene, but here…I do consider us equals, Constantin. He may be in our employ, but he is not some hireling or lackey, to be given commands without considering his feelings on the matter.”

“You think Kurt has feelings?” Constantin’s tone was flippant.

Her anger flared. “If you’d seen how upset he was when we found that camp, you wouldn’t say such things.”

Constantin saw her sincerity, and held up both his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies, dear cousin! I can tell the sight of that camp upset you just as deeply…which is why I question Kurt’s judgment in taking you there.”

“If I had not been with him…” She remembered his blind anger, his overwhelming pain. _He would have gotten himself killed. I would never have forgiven myself._ “I am glad I went. He needed my help to put an end to that camp, and we did. It is no more than I have done for Siora, Vasco, or Aphra. In Hikmet, we might have come to blows with a gang of bandits, and sneaking into that outpost to rescue Aphra’s friends or running into a battle to try to negotiate a truce were far more dangerous.”

“At least those tasks were part of your duties as legate. Helping Kurt—”

“Helping a friend,” she said firmly. “I would do it again without hesitation, a thousand times over.” She paused. “I know that on the continent, things were different; it was as you say. Kurt was our master-at-arms, our bodyguard, nothing more. I do not think I truly knew him before we left Serene.”

De Sardet thought of the voyage, of the night they had spent dancing during the crossing celebration, of the day they had watched the pod of dolphins racing alongside the ship, of the dinners they had spent smiling at each other while Constantin flirted shamelessly with Vasco. “I know you have not had the same chances to know him, but…I would still have hoped that you would see him as more than a hired guard, considering our past. You must know that he has risked his life for me.”

“Because it’s his job. If you asked him, he’d tell you that himself. He’s only doing it because I paid him.”

“That might be what he’d say, but you must know it isn’t how he feels.”

“I think I must take your word for that, cousin…but don’t you think that if the Coin Guard ordered him elsewhere, he would obey? Even if it were to help tie down heretics in the Place of Punishment in San Matheus or fight natives in the Green-Azure. You know he has served in both regiments before.”

“He would not leave me now,” she said, and only realized after she’d spoken that she had said ‘me,’ not ‘us,’ or even ‘the Congregation.’ “Not after all we have been through together…especially now, when the Coin Guard itself has betrayed him. But even before that, he has always cared more for his honor than for any amount of coin. Do you know, when he found out that Reiner was dead, he insisted on sending money to his family? All his winnings from the _Sea Horse_ , all the money he’d won betting on me in the Coin Arena, his own salary…he insisted.”

“That’s foolish pride,” said Constantin. “All that money has to be a trifle compared to anything you could have given them…and I am certain that you offered! You are the most generous person I know.”

“My generosity would have been nothing to me, but Kurt’s…it must have been most of what he has,” she answered. “He would not want anyone to know.”

“He told you,” Constantin pointed out. “Why, if he was not looking for credit?”

“Because I asked him. I told him I would match whatever he gave Reiner’s family.” De Sardet did not mention the sum she had set aside for Kurt, more than what he had given to Reiner’s aunt and siblings: she knew Constantin would tell her it was unnecessary, and she did not want him to heap scorn on her for doing it. “He’s kinder than you give him credit for…and far more principled.”

De Sardet had never realized how much of Kurt’s stoic, sullen manner had been a show until their departure from Serene. _How much of that persona was invented in the ghost camp? Did he learn that if he acted as if he had no feelings, that his instructors would not try to hurt him so badly? Or was it an attempt to please them, to act as if he was the sort of cruel mercenary they wanted him to be, with no principles and no allegiance save to anyone who paid his fee?_ Again, her heart went out to him, and she couldn’t help but feel absolutely furious at both Torsten and all the officers who had served at both ghost camps. _He was the same age then that I was when he first became my master-at-arms._ Looking back, she could only think of how kind he had been by comparison. _He seemed gruff and distant at first, but then he laughed and called me Green Blood, and made me feel better after Lady Isabelle made me cry._ He had been so much larger and stronger than either of his charges, but had never hurt her. _I think Constantin gave me more bruises during our practices than Kurt ever did._

“If you could spend more time with him, you’d understand,” she said, seeing that Constantin was still looking at her with skepticism. “I’ve gotten to know all my companions during our travels. Vasco has such a wry sense of humor; Siora is so curious about all aspects of our culture; even Petrus is far more of a romantic than I ever would have guessed.”

“A romantic?”

“Yes,” de Sardet said, and could not help laughing. “He enjoys penny romances.”

That drew surprised laughter from Constantin. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly,” she said. As they cleared the main course and served dessert, conversation turned to lighter matters: she told Constantin about Petrus’s taste in literature, and about Aphra’s shock at discovering it.

“Perhaps it would do her good to borrow one,” Constantin suggested. “It sounds as if all she reads are dull scientific treatises!” He paused. “You know, I have not paid much attention to this Lady Aphra…”

“I don’t think she’d be interested,” de Sardet said. “From what she’s said, she’s reserved all her time for studying, not romance.”

“Such a shame. Perhaps I can persuade her otherwise.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Do you doubt my charm?”

“Only its effects on Aphra,” de Sardet replied with a smile, then yawned.

“You do look tired.”

“So do you.” Constantin himself seemed weary to de Sardet; his face was pale, and it seemed to her that he still wasn’t cleaning his plate with the same gusto he had in Serene.

“Perhaps we should have an earlier night than intended,” Constantin conceded. “I’ll have a guard walk you back to your house.”

“No,” de Sardet said sharply; she couldn’t help but remember Torsten’s letter, and feel as if the only Coin Guard in New Serene she trusted was Kurt. “I’d rather go alone. It isn’t far.” As she rose from the table, she embraced him. “Be safe, and keep your eyes open!”

“I will, I promise.”

“I’m so glad that you told Kurt to travel with me,” she told him as the evening came to a close. “Even if you do not consider him a friend, you must know that we can trust him. I do not feel the same way about your guards.”

“And I feel you place too much trust in him,” Constantin replied. “In all of them, for that matter. You barely know them!”

“You are wrong,” she insisted. “Kurt, Vasco, Siora, Petrus…I think even Aphra might grow to become a friend, given enough time. I would trust them all with my life.” _I have._

“I think you are overly optimistic,” Constantin said, “and overly generous, if you describe them all as friends…but you are always too good!”

As she returned to her home, she couldn’t help dwelling on the conversation they’d had. It was, she realized, the first time she had ever seriously disagreed with Constantin on anything, and the first time she had persisted in a disagreement without giving in. _It is perhaps the first time we have not been of a single mind on anything…at least, not something so serious._ Their opinions had sometimes differed: Constantin’s enthusiasm for their departure from Teer Fradee had been contrasted with her own dread of leaving her mother, his glee at the lack of letters from the continent compared to her own sorrow. _But I always gave way to his opinions, at least outwardly; I never spoke up to insist on my own feelings._

_My feelings._ De Sardet thought of Kurt, and felt her heart quicken. _Constantin is right about one thing: he is still the captain of his guard, assigned by Constantin to protect me. He would certainly feel I am in a position of authority over him._ She had seen how he still sometimes felt constrained by that. _I hope he knows now that we are truly friends and equals. If he could come to see us that way…could he come to see me as something more?_

She pushed the thought away. _He is grieving…not only for Reiner, but for the Coin Guard. Torsten’s betrayal has hurt him badly, and not being able to act immediately will hurt him more. He needs time to heal. I must respect that. For now, I will be the best friend I can be to him, and hope that he understands that I do not see him in the same way as Constantin._

Kurt had gone to bed when she returned, but Siora had waited up for her. “How is he?” de Sardet asked, worried.

“It will take time, but he will heal. This has caused him great pain…but it will be better for him in the future, I think. It is better that he knows that the _mal_ of the _bod airni_ cannot be trusted.” 

“I hated to leave him alone.”

“He was not alone. You may be his dearest _carants_ , but he has other _caranten_.”

_Am I? Truly?_ Kurt had told her as much, but hearing it from Siora somehow reassured her. _He has Manfred and Sieglinde…but he had not seen either of them for years before arriving here, and he has spent little time with them since...and Siora and Vasco have not known him nearly as long as I have, nor did he befriend Vasco until after we came ashore._ She thought of Kurt speaking of loneliness aboard the _Sea Horse_ , and realized with a pang how true his words must have been. “I should not have left him,” she reproved herself. “I should have made my excuses to Constantin.”

“I think it has been very difficult for you to speak out against him,” Siora observed.

“I wish it had not been necessary.” She stopped, upset, still thinking of Constantin’s casual contempt. “I thought we were always in accord. I always thought that matters of birth and nobility mattered as little to Constantin as they did to me. In Serene, Kurt and I were not exactly friends, but I would never have considered him beneath me, or thought of him as a servant. He was more like Sir de Courcillon, a tutor or a mentor…but closer than that, since he was always so near, and since he always knew so much about our lives, even if I never knew anything about his. I could not say that we were close, but…”

“You did not think less of him,” Siora said. “And now that you are so often together, without the strange foolishness of your _renaigse_ customs, you have become _caranten_.” Despite de Sardet’s perturbation, Siora’s eyes sparkled as she added, “And you like him.”

De Sardet knew there was no point in denying it. “I do,” she admitted. “Don’t tell him, please – this is not the time for it, and I do not know if he could ever feel the same way – but I do like him, in a way I never would have thought of when we were in Serene. The more I have come to know him, the more I have come to realize that he is thoughtful, kind-hearted…the way he insisted on helping Reiner’s family, his dedication to making sure that no one else would suffer the way he did…”

“Yes,” Siora said, nodding in agreement. “I saw this at _did e kiden nadageis_.”

“Constantin does not understand,” said de Sardet. “He believes that Kurt protects us only because he is paid to do so, and that all he cares about is coin. How he can believe that when he has given nearly everything he has to Reiner’s family, I do not know, but I cannot make him understand.”

“You have always been close to your cousin,” said Siora. “You have grown up in his shade, like a smaller sapling beneath a greater.”

De Sardet nodded. “That is true,” she said. Constantin was the only son and heir of the Prince d’Orsay, the heir-presumptive to the Congregation itself. She was the heir of House de Sardet, but she was a daughter of the house, and nowhere near as politically important, especially as her mother had preferred to stay away from the court as much as possible. _Mother tried to keep out of political intrigues, and I followed her lead._ “Constantin is far more important than I am, but I never minded. He has always loved being the center of attention, and I have never wanted the spotlight.”

“When you are very close to something, you cannot see it all at once, even if what you do see is in great detail,” said Siora. “You have been close to Constantin all your life. You may know a part of him very well, but maybe you have been too close to know everything.”

“He has always been friendly with Kurt,” said de Sardet. “There were times when he would call him a hireling or act as if he meant less than we did, but I told myself he did not truly believe it, or that I had misunderstood.”

“I do not understand your nobility,” Siora said. “The children of our _mals_ are no different from the children of our warriors or our hunters. Even the idea that a warrior should not be treated with respect because he is a warrior…our warriors fight to protect our people, as yours do. I do not understand why your people feel they should not be treated with respect.”

“Neither do I,” de Sardet admitted. “My mother taught me that all people deserve respect, no matter who they are. The palace servants, the guards who protected us, the merchants who sold us our jewels and clothing, the artists who painted our portraits or the noblemen and noblewomen who would petition for favors…I have always believed that no one should be looked down upon for the circumstances of their birth or their lack of a title or wealth.”

“But Constantin does not feel the same way.”

“He has always been so friendly with the men and women he met in the lower boroughs,” de Sardet said. “He was always fond of visiting taverns and brothels. I thought that meant he did not see them as less deserving of his respect.” _But he does look down on them._ She thought she might have been overly sensitive, but she could not help but notice the way Constantin had dismissed the servants who’d served their supper, often ignoring them entirely. _He doesn’t see them the same way he does his friends and equals. He would bed Siora, as he’s bedded Vasco, but does he see her as an equal the same way he does me, or any of our fellow nobility?_ She wasn’t sure, and that bothered her.

“I thought I knew him,” she said. “I thought I knew him as well as I knew myself.”

“Forgive me, _carants_ , but it seems you did not know yourself very well before you came here.”

“Maybe you are right,” de Sardet conceded. “But it bothers me to think it.”

“If being here has changed you, it may change him as well. You said you did not think of Kurt as your _carants_ until you got to know him well. Perhaps Constantin will also have this revelation.” Again, Siora nudged her. “Though I do not think that he will ever see Kurt the same way you do.”

She was, de Sardet realized, trying to make her smile. “I doubt it too,” she said. “Kurt is not Constantin’s type.”

“I wish I was not,” said Siora. “I do not want to insult you, _carants_ , but I do not want to…lie down with…your cousin.”

The way she hesitated made de Sardet smile. “Did you learn that from one of Petrus’s novels?”

“Kurt taught me. He said it was more polite than ‘fuck.’”

That did make de Sardet laugh, especially as she imagined Siora rejecting Constantin in a less polite fashion. _I would have liked to have seen his face._ “It is,” she said. “Though we would usually not say things even that openly.”

She yawned, and Siora said, “We should both rest. Good night, _carants_.”


	71. Childhood Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few chapters of fluff and shipping now, to lighten the mood after the unrelenting grimness of the ghost camp.

The next day, Kurt risked another meeting with Sieglinde to express his frustrations with Constantin and his glib explanation. He went alone; he saw no sense in endangering de Sardet or the others, and hoped that a single Coin Guard visiting the barracks would be less suspicious than the legate and her entourage.

“I don’t like it, Sieglinde,” he told her. “He thinks that this is all about Egon and the bandits with the silver coin.”

“He’s half-right,” Sieglinde replied. “I’ve found some ties connecting the men with the silver coin and the graduates of that ghost camp. It seems that some of the boys who emerged from that camp were assigned to Lieutenant Aldo’s command…you know, the lieutenant that your Naut captain shot.”

“I told him not to do it,” Kurt groused. “We could have questioned him.”

“There is certainly a connection between Egon and the ghost camp…but I do not think Torsten is Egon. If you had to ask me, I’d wager it’s one of his lieutenants,” said Sieglinde. “Maybe Ludger, maybe not. But I don’t think it’s Torsten himself, and I don’t think this camp was designed to train men to become bandits.”

“I know it wasn’t.” Kurt lowered his head, trying to suppress a shudder, but Sieglinde caught his discomfiture.

“I want you out of this, Kurt. Stay with your legate. Let her duties take you far away from all this.”

“I want to help.”

“You’ll get yourself killed…and her too, if you’re not careful.” Sieglinde had been seated at her desk; now, she stood, coming around the side. “You’re too close to this, Kurt. I’m worried that if you see Torsten again, face to face, you’ll do something that will get you court-martialed or killed.”

“He’s responsible for all this,” said Kurt. “He killed Reiner. He killed a lot of boys.”

“I’m glad that you’re finally placing blame where it belongs, but it won’t help you when you see him again. Let me look into this. I’m in a better position than you are to find evidence…to build the case the governor wants, since he’s refusing to do anything about it.”

“He won’t listen to me.” Kurt’s cheeks burned hot as he thought of Constantin’s dismissal. “He wants me to put my head down and obey, not offer my opinions.”

“I’m sure he thinks better of you than that.”

“I’m glad you do!” Kurt shook his head. “For all the time we’ve spent together, he’s only fond of me when I’m not arguing with him. He’s decided this is nothing. Doesn’t want anything to ruin his new playground.”

“It was ruined long before he made landfall. Whatever the commander is plotting, he’s been laying the groundwork for years. He won’t give up so easily.”

“What do you think he’s planning? This is more than some banditry and a plot to increase the size of the Guard’s next contract, I know it is. I just can’t figure out what.” Kurt shook his head in frustration. “I’m no politician. Put a sword in my hand and I know what to do, but all this talk of plotting and intrigue…it’s not me.”

“It’s not me, either,” Sieglinde replied bluntly. “But I’ve more experience than you do with this sort of thing, and I can’t figure it out either. I have my suspicions…but you wouldn’t want to hear them, and I’m not going to voice them until I can figure out if they’re true.”

“What are you thinking?”

“The sort of thing that would get us both killed for talking about it, if we’re wrong,” Sieglinde replied. “You know I feel about the commander! What I think he’s capable of…”

“Until I saw that camp, I would have said you were wrong. But finding out that he built that camp…that he employed Rolf to hurt those kids…that he made Hermann the major of San Matheus…” Kurt couldn’t go on. _I can’t tell her._ Sieglinde knew that Hermann had been his own captain at the ghost camp on Gacane, but she didn’t know the full extent of what he’d done there.

“I don’t like any of his appointments. Hermann, Ermengarde…they’ve no honor, no scruples,” said Sieglinde. “Hermann is well-loved by the priests of Theleme, and he’s cozy with the inquisitors; meanwhile, Ermengarde caters to the scholars. But they serve Torsten first…well, Torsten, and themselves.”

“All of them spout the same empty rhetoric; they all fan the flames of discontent among the common soldiers, telling them that the nobility of the country they serve doesn’t care about them, that the Coin Guard will look to its own. Much of what they say would be admirable if they meant it, but they don’t; they’d rather line their own pockets than put extra pay in the pockets of ordinary soldiers, and they’ll sacrifice those same soldiers when it suits their aims. They’re guilty of everything they accuse the nobles of doing, and more.”

“No noble ever built a ghost camp,” Kurt agreed.

“I’m going to look into this,” Sieglinde told him firmly, emphasizing the first word. “Keep your own head down. Keep the legate and the governor safe.”

“I’ll do my best with Green Blood, but the governor’s another story. He doesn’t want to believe anything’s amiss, and with Reiner dead, I don’t know who I can trust to serve as his personal bodyguard.” Kurt paused. “I’d trust Recruit Wilhem, from the ghost camp, but I don’t know what Torsten would make of that appointment.”

“I want to keep Wilhem and his fellow recruits away from everything for a time,” said Sieglinde. “Depending on what Torsten’s learned of the camp’s closure, I may tell him that you shut that camp down on my orders…or even that I shut it down myself, without mentioning you or the legate. I want to keep you out of this, if I can. Torsten needs to think you’re still loyal to him…or, at least, that you won’t interfere further with any of his plans. I don’t want him looking to get you or the legate out of the way, and he’s likely to do that if he thinks you’re going to make trouble.”

“He can’t hurt Green Blood.”

“Can’t he? Do you think he asked her to go into that arena for that native hunter on accident? A noblewoman of the Merchant Congregation venturing into the Coin Arena alone, against the finest champion of the arena on Teer Fradee? Do you think he expected her to survive?”

A cold chill ran down Kurt’s spine. “He wanted her dead?”

“She’d already interfered with his plans, hadn’t she? The extorted merchants, the discovery of the silver coin, Lieutenant Aldo’s death?”

“I’ll kill him,” Kurt breathed, not knowing what he was saying, before he caught himself.

Sieglinde gave him a rueful smile. “That’s why you can’t stay here, or involve yourself in any of this further. I’ll do everything I can to ensure Governor d’Orsay’s safety; in the meantime, you look to Legate de Sardet. Keep yourself out of trouble, and let me handle the evidence-gathering and the political aspects. That’s an order, Kurt.” 

Kurt looked to Sieglinde, and she smiled. “I know you don’t like it, but you know I’m right.”

“I trust you to do this,” he said simply. “Find out what we need to make the case against him. Bring him to justice. Make him pay.”

“I will. I’ve been on this island far longer than you have; I have more connections, and know the people here far better than you.” Sieglinde paused. “And…Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“Speaking as your friend, not as your commanding officer…you need some time away from Coin Guard business, dwelling on what’s happened. Thoughts of the past, of old wrongs, of everything surrounding the ghost camp…I can see it’s opened old wounds. You need time to heal.”

Kurt was silent; he knew she was right, but couldn’t quite acknowledge it. “You have the tendency to shut yourself off from people when you’re upset…to retreat into being alone. It’s not good for you. Talk to your friends. That Naut captain, that young native woman…your legate,” she suggested, and a small smile played upon her lips in a way that disconcerted Kurt.

“She’s not my legate,” he managed.

“Are you sure of that? I can see you’re very fond of her.”

“Careful,” he cautioned her. “That’s the daughter of the Princess de Sardet you’re talking about…the Prince d’Orsay’s niece.”

“Your friend,” Sieglinde persisted. “I’m sure she’d say the same. Talk to her. Keep things bottled up inside, and you’ll end up staring at the bottom of a bottle.”

It was an old adage of the Guard; Kurt had seen enough of his comrades go the same way to know it was true. “I don’t want to burden her,” he said.

“You’re not a burden. I’m sure she’d tell you that, too.” Sieglinde paused, then frowned. “I worry about you, Kurt. All of this has you looking to the past, and too much of that isn’t good. What of the future?”

“What of it? It’ll be the same as the present, I’d wager.”

“So you haven’t thought of making a different life for yourself?” It was a conversation they’d had many times, beginning back in their days together in the Red Sun and repeated in Serene. “I’m happy being alone, Kurt, but you? You’d be happier if you settled down, found yourself a wife and started a family. You have more skills than fighting.”

“Who would protect Green Blood?” _Constantin might not miss me, but she would._ Kurt paused. “I can’t think of the future. Not now, not when I know men like Hermann and Torsten are running the Guard. I have to make sure that nothing like that camp can ever happen again.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think I can imagine a future for myself until that’s done.”

Sieglinde frowned. “If we could meet freely, I’d invite you to the tavern for a pint and tell you to talk,” she said. “But we can’t do that without inviting unwelcome attention from the commander. But I think you need to talk to someone, Kurt. Whether that’s one of your friends in the legate’s house, one of the counselors I’m going to appoint to help those recruits from the ghost camp come to terms with what’s happened to them, or someone else, opening up to someone will help more than you think. Your future should be more than an endless life of service to the Guard.”

A sad look came into her eyes. “You’ve given enough to the Guard, Kurt, and it’s taken more than enough from you. I hope you’ll find something more for yourself…something that makes you happy. Or someone.” She didn’t wait for his reply. “Promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said. After all this is done…”

“I will,” Kurt said. His thoughts strayed again to Alexandra de Sardet. _I couldn’t leave her._ “Though I don’t think anyone would ever want a broken old soldier like me!”

He’d tried to make a joke of it, and Sieglinde replied with a similarly light tone, though he saw that the worry hadn’t left her eyes. “You’d best be careful who you’re calling old. If you think you’re old, I must be inches from the grave.”

“Depending on whether or not Torsten figures out what you’re doing, we may both be closer than we think,” Kurt responded. “Be careful, Sieglinde.”

“You, too, Kurt.” Sieglinde paused, then gave him one last command. “As far as Torsten is concerned, you’re still the loyal, obedient soldier. If he learns that you and the legate shut down that camp, you’ll have done so because you hated Rolf so much you had to destroy anything he’d built…but you know nothing of Torsten’s involvement, or of Hermann’s, for that matter. Officially, you think it was his off-the-books operation, and you shut it down as a loyal soldier of the Guard. I want Torsten to think you’re still his man…or, at least, that you won’t get in his way. That, when it comes to it, you’ll grit your teeth, put your head down, and obey, the way any of his ideal soldiers would.”

“I don’t like it.”

“But you’ll do as I say…if only because it helps keep your legate safe.” Sieglinde clasped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Kurt. And stay safe out there.”

When he returned to the legate’s house, de Sardet was waiting anxiously. “Kurt! Where were you?”

“I went to talk with Sieglinde one more time. I wanted her to know that our meeting with Constantin did not go as I had hoped.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could have persuaded him.”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

De Sardet bit down on her lip, looking away. “I do want you to know something,” she said suddenly, lifting her eyes to his. “The way Constantin treated you yesterday was unacceptable. I told him that. You should be able to speak your mind…to say what you think without Constantin acting as if you don’t have that right.”

“On this island, he is my employer,” Kurt offered. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

That only seemed to make her more upset. “You aren’t our servant,” she said. “You’re far more than the captain of Constantin’s guard…you are my friend, my equal, and I will not let Constantin treat you as anything but. I should have spoken up sooner yesterday. I should not have left you to have supper with him.”

“I’m fine, Green Blood. I’m used to being on my own.”

“But you shouldn’t be alone. Not now,” she said, and he couldn’t help but think of what Sieglinde had said to him.

“You didn’t leave me alone. In fact, I’d have thought you asked the others to look after me!”

“I didn’t, but I’m glad they did.” De Sardet paused. “I know it cannot have been easy for you, seeing that camp…let alone killing the officers there. Rolf appeared to know you well. What was he to you? A friend, a rival?”

“A little bit of both,” Kurt admitted. “I wouldn’t willingly have chosen him to be my comrade, and yet he was…and he was always picking at me to make sure he was the best, the strongest, and the most appreciated. I suppose we all have someone like this in our past. Did you not experience that with Constantin?” _Constantin has always craved attention; he has always needed to feel appreciated…likely because he never got that attention from his parents._

Like Rolf, Constantin had always needed to be the most appreciated, the brightest star in the sky, the center of attention; he had always craved his father’s praise, even as he had despised him. _Just as Rolf despised what Hermann did to us, but needed his praise all the same._ Kurt had never before considered that a pampered prince like Constantin and an orphan like Rolf could have so much in common.

But he knew de Sardet had more affection for her cousin than he would ever have for Rolf, which was confirmed in her reply. “Constantin was never easy-going, but we were friends more often than we were rivals. I know he could be awful towards other children, but he always had a liking for me.”

“You were, and I think you still are, his only friend…the court has not been kind to him,” Kurt conceded.

“It’s true. Did you know that his father told him one day that he would never climb up the ladder if he did not behave in a noble way? Constantin took it a bit too literally and decided to climb up the city walls.”

Kurt had to laugh. “I wasn’t with you then, but I was told about it.” The incident had occurred a few years before Kurt had become master-at-arms to the Prince d’Orsay, but the guards had still talked of it, and de Courcillon had related the incident to him as an example of what he was getting himself into. “That was the first time you saved his life. You were very brave that day.” He remembered the tale he’d been told, of the little girl who’d climbed up after her cousin and brought him back to earth. “And, if memory serves, he wasn’t even punished. You really are the friend everyone dreams of having.”

“Not everyone,” de Sardet said. “Constantin always spared me, but I remember a little pest named Lady Isabelle very well. I don’t know if you remember, but she could not stop making mean comments to me.”

 _I remember,_ Kurt thought. She’d done so shortly after Kurt had arrived in Serene; Kurt had been returning from training with his peers one day when he’d found one of his new charges crying on the steps in the courtyard. _She was crying her heart out because that little pest had called her ugly. Made fun of her birthmark, said she looked like she had a face full of mold, a bunch of stupid childish taunts._ Kurt had been somewhat at a loss at how to comfort a ten-year-old girl, let alone a noble one, but he had settled down on the steps next to her. _I showed her all my scars and told her she wasn’t ugly at all, and asked her if she wanted to learn how to knock some sense into Lady Isabelle._ That had managed to draw a smile from her, and by the time he’d helped her up, she’d forgotten her tears.

“She always thought I was too unkempt, never delicate enough…she would do everything in her power to ridicule me!” de Sardet remembered.

“Yes, I remember now,” said Kurt. “That brat really was insufferable.” He smiled at her. “You were far superior to her, which probably explains her behavior.”

“Just as you were superior to Rolf,” de Sardet answered. “He was cruel, and terrible to make others suffer in the same way that he had…but I am glad that he paid for what he did.”

“So am I.” _Despite everything,_ Kurt thought. He had fought beside Rolf, suffered through the same deprivations in the ghost camp. _We both knew what it was to wake at midnight with Hermann standing over us. We both knew the fear of hearing him come into the barracks._ But Rolf had chosen to work for him. _He was corresponding with Hermann. How he could bear to write him…to have Hermann write back…how he could want that bastard’s praise, after everything…_ He thought of Constantin. _He’d be glad if his father dropped dead, but he still wants his praise._ Just as Hermann had recommended Rolf for command of the ghost camp, Augustin d’Orsay had appointed his own son to a position of authority on Teer Fradee. _Old d’Orsay’s taken a hand to his son more than once…nothing like the ghost camp, but nothing like what a father should do to his child, either._ Kurt remembered seeing a fifteen-year-old Constantin show up to practice with a black eye and a fresh bruise on his cheek, not from a tavern fight but from having humiliated his father by behaving poorly during a meeting with diplomats from Theleme, and his attempts to cover his pain with bravado, boasting that he wouldn’t cover the marks with cosmetics. _It wasn’t the first time d’Orsay laid a hand on his son…or the last, for that matter._ If anyone else had hurt one of Kurt’s charges, he would have made them pay, but he’d been powerless against his employer. _The same way I was always powerless against Hermann._

 _No more,_ he told himself. _I’ll make Hermann pay for what he’s done. He won’t hurt any more recruits._ Nor would Kurt allow anyone to hurt his two charges. _Constantin is my employer now, not the Prince d’Orsay…and I won’t let anyone hurt him or Green Blood._ “Rolf was always terrible toward everyone else,” he said aloud. “He had to be the best. I didn’t realize it then, but now…now, I think he was only trying to keep from being hurt. He didn’t mind trampling the rest of us underfoot if it meant he’d be spared.” He thought of the blood pulsing from Rolf’s leg, how pale he’d been when he died. “He was never beaten as badly as some of us…but it didn’t work as well as he would have liked.” _Hermann woke him in the night with the rest of us._ Kurt couldn’t help but think of the letter from Hermann to Rolf, the praise he’d lavished on him. _Rolf always tried his best to please him. I never understood how he could look up to him after all he’d done._ Kurt remembered Rolf’s boasts about how the training had worked, and wondered if he’d come to believe it. _Did he think that it was worth it? Or was that only what he told himself so he could look himself in the mirror…so he wouldn’t end up hanging from a rafter in the barracks or putting the barrel of his pistol under his chin and pulling the trigger?_

He shook off the thought as de Sardet spoke. “Constantin always spared me…but he could be cruel toward others,” she said; again, she looked pained. “When we were children, I never realized it…or maybe it was that I ignored it, because he never was never cruel to anyone I cared for. It was easier not to see when he was being unkind to Lady Isabelle or Sir Bastien, after they had made fun of me, but now…”

“You aren’t responsible for him, Green Blood. I know his opinions aren’t your own.”

“Yes, but I didn’t speak out as I should have.”

“It isn’t always easy to speak out. Not after a lifetime of silence.” He paused. “After I left that camp, it took years for me to feel like I’d unlearned some of the lessons they were trying to teach…like I could be more than what they intended. I feel like I’m still learning.”

“You and Constantin have always been close. Rolf and I…that camp might have forced us together, but we were never friends.” _Brothers-in-arms, but not brothers._ “It’s hard for you to disagree with him, I know.”

“We have always been close,” she agreed. “When I spoke out against him, it felt almost like a betrayal, if only because he was so surprised. It was as if he could not believe I did not agree.” She frowned, looking down; as her voice grew softer, Kurt heard the hurt in it. “It was hard to hear what he said…and to realize that it is not that we’ve grown apart, but that I did not know him as well as I thought. Constantin may have believed we were always of one mind, but so did I.”

“You and Constantin have spent your lives together, but you aren’t the same person, Green Blood. I’ve always known that.” _But never more so than now._ For a moment, he couldn’t help but notice how lovely she was, and of how kind, and of how glad he was that he knew her, in a way that he would never feel for Constantin.

 _We are friends,_ he told himself. _Friends in a way I could never imagine being with Constantin._ He was well aware that Constantin had always held him at arm’s length, the way he kept everyone except his cousin at a distance, and that Constantin had always viewed him the way that most nobles looked upon members of the Coin Guard, as hirelings in their service, not as a friend or mentor. _Constantin may tell me to call him by his name when he’s in a good mood, but when it comes to it, he’ll expect to be ‘Sir d’Orsay’ or ‘Your Excellency.’ Green Blood would never want that._ Kurt couldn’t imagine confiding in Constantin about what he’d suffered in the ghost camp, or his rivalry with Rolf, or the pain he’d felt at Reiner’s death. _He’s never felt comfortable with the uglier parts of life._ Kurt remembered Constantin’s ineffectual attempts to comfort his cousin after she’d discovered her mother was afflicted with the malichor, his helplessness, how quickly he’d fled. _He’d try to laugh it off, or ignore it if he couldn’t. I don’t know what he’d do if he ever had to face a tragedy head-on._

Alexandra de Sardet had experienced her own sorrows: the discovery of her mother’s illness, the years of watching her slowly decay, being sent from home before her death. _Since she’s come here, she’s had to kill more than I’d ever wanted her to; she’s seen a battlefield full of the dead and dying; she’s had to help Siora bury her mother, knowing she won’t be there to bury her own mother, not knowing if she’s already dead._ It was more pain than Kurt had ever wanted her to experience. _I wish I could have protected her from it all…but all of this hasn’t made her angry or bitter, it’s only made her kinder and more understanding._

He did his best to offer her some of that same understanding now. “You haven’t betrayed Constantin. I don’t even think you’ve disappointed him. I don’t think you could.”

“I don’t think he listened to me,” she said, still upset. “He apologized, but I don’t think he ever understood why he’d made me so unhappy, or that he meant it.” De Sardet paused, then amended, “I think that he meant it in the sense that he was sorry he’d upset me, but…it wasn’t just his words that upset me, it was that he meant them. Not all of them…the worst of his remarks, I think, were the ones he did not mean…he spoke without thinking, the way he would at banquets in Serene when he’d had too much wine and was trying to be witty, or when he was upset about something, or when he didn’t know as much as he thought he did about a situation…but still,” she said, looking troubled. “He may not have meant precisely what he said, but there was still meaning behind it, and I do not think he truly regretted it.”

It was enough to make Kurt wonder what Constantin had said to her, and what about, but he didn’t press the matter. _I don’t need to know what he said of me when they were alone._ He could guess well enough. _I’m an insolent guard who hasn’t learned my lesson, a big-mouthed soldier who’d do better to hold his tongue and hit things when ordered, a bodyguard who risked his lady’s life by bringing her into danger._ “He’s right about one thing, Green Blood,” he told her, and spoke over the start of de Sardet’s protest. “I’m sorry I put you into danger, and in a situation where you had to fight that lieutenant to the death.” Vasco had struck the killing blow, but he knew that the fight could easily have gone differently. “I wish that I could have taken care of it on my own.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, and he was surprised by the sudden ferocity in her voice, the emotion in her eyes. It was enough that his breath caught in his throat, and with it, his apology. “You could not have gone into that camp alone, and I am glad we went. If we hadn’t, Wilhem would be dead, and I don’t know how many others…and we would not know of this plot, whatever it may be. I am glad that I was with you – glad you trusted me enough to have me at your side, and to confide in me after. I promise you, I will be here for you, now and always.”

There was nothing he could say to protest against that. “I should be the one promising to protect you.”

“Not now,” de Sardet said, then faltered. “Not after…” Her throat worked, and she swallowed hard.

“After that camp, it’s not likely anything Constantin said could hurt me,” Kurt said. It was true. _Rolf knew how to cut me to the bone. That stripling’s insults aren’t anything in comparison._ “I’m used enough to him saying things he doesn’t mean…and those he does.” He gave a shrug. “He’s not entirely wrong, you know. In Serene, the friendships you’ve made here would be impossible. The old fox might have been a suitable acquaintance, and maybe the Bridger, but the sailor or the pretty twig? You would’ve been the scandal of the court…and that’s without thinking of what they’d have said if you’d started treating me like one of your fine lords.”

“I don’t want to go back,” de Sardet admitted. “I cannot imagine returning to the life I led there. I know it’s only been a few months, but…”

“I know what you mean,” Kurt said, and saw her blink in surprise.

“Are you truly glad you came? Even after this?”

“Torsten would have built this camp whether or not I knew about it. At least by being here, I could put an end to it.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I had worried that you would regret having come.”

“I could not regret coming with you. Who would have kept you safe on the roads, or from those native monsters?” Kurt thought of the _nadaig_ they’d faced in the swamp, with its poisonous cloud and wavering tentacles. _And I cannot regret becoming closer to you._ He felt suddenly uncomfortable with his own feelings; they were too close to the unimaginable that he moved away from them, trying to make light of it. “Besides, what would I have done if you’d left me in that palace? No one to protect, no one to train…I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself!”

Kurt had thought that de Sardet might laugh, or respond equally lightly; to his surprise, she was still serious as she said, “I never did. At the court, I felt as if I never had a place, nor anything to do with myself…I’ve done more here in the last few months than I did in a lifetime before.”

“I hope Constantin will come to feel the same way about coming here…and I hope his opinions will change. I think we have both been enjoying our new positions and how free we are on Teer Fradee compared to how things were in Serene. If he could find some of the same happiness…”

“I think he’s been enjoying his new position,” said Kurt. “He’s certainly freer than he was in Serene, and I haven’t heard any complaints from Sir de Courcillon or Lady de Morange that he’s been neglecting his post.”

“Oh, no. He’s been attending to all of his duties assiduously,” de Sardet agreed, then hesitated. “But I hope he will find something more, as I have…that he will make friends,” she added quickly.

“And not at the tavern or the brothel,” Kurt said before remembering himself. _It’s Green Blood you’re talking to._ He felt the tips of his ears burn hot before he saw she was smiling.

“Exactly. Although I don’t think he’s visited either nearly as often as he did in Serene…or if he has, he’s been far more discreet.” 

_She knows Constantin as well as I do. She’s fished him out of a brothel on more than one occasion._ “He does want to be a good governor,” Kurt agreed. “And not just to prove his father wrong, I think.”

“No,” de Sardet agreed. “He wants to succeed for his own sake. It’s good to see him this way.”

“And it’s good to see you this way, too,” Kurt said aloud, before pausing and stumbling over his words. “I know you’re upset tonight, but I think coming to this island has been good for both of you. You’ve seemed happier here than you were in Serene.”

“Because I have friends,” she answered. “In Serene, I could not make friends I could trust among the nobility; I always had to worry that they would have some ulterior motive. And I could not come to know you the way I have here, because it would have been seen as improper.”

“It truly was a hornet’s nest of intrigue,” said Kurt. “That’s no way to live your life, I’d agree.” He swallowed hard, thinking of Torsten. “I never imagined the Guard would be the same way.”

“Did you have any friends among the Guard? I know that Rolf was not your friend, but how long have you known Manfred or Sieglinde?”

“I met them both when we were all stationed in the Red Sun Regiment…so, about half my life,” he said. “But neither of them were ever trained in a ghost camp, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kurt thought again of Hans, and of the boys he had known in the ghost camp. “I did have friends in that camp…but my best friend didn’t make it out, and after the rest of us got out, we did our best to forget everything that had happened there. We tried to move on. There weren’t many happy memories there that we’d want to get together to share.”

“You told me that you enlisted at a very young age, but do you have any pleasant memories of your childhood?” 

Kurt was touched by how painfully upset de Sardet looked. _Her mother made sure her own childhood was happy, even if she did grow up in a pit of vipers._ Kurt hadn’t had anyone to look out for him that way. “Some, yes. Why? What kind of memories were you thinking of?”

“Tell me about a happy memory of yours,” she said, “a memory that makes you smile.”

“I have a few sweet but blurry memories of my wet-nurse,” he said, thinking of Clara. “I remember her smell of crushed flowers and herbs.” His memories of her were more impressions: the feeling of safety wrapped up in soft arms, a comforting voice, her lips pressed against a skinned knee as her handkerchief wiped the tears from his cheeks. _None of those are truly memories,_ he thought, _and sometimes they feel more like a dream._ Trying to recall a specific moment with her was like trying to remember a dream; the events slipped through his fingers like water when he tried to catch them. _I remember being taken from her…the way she cried when she gave me up, how lonely I felt when I fell asleep that night._ The memory certainly wasn’t a happy one, and he knew it wasn’t one that would console Alexandra de Sardet. He saw her looking at him expectantly and tried to think of something that would make her smile. _What is the happiest memory I have from my childhood?_

It came to him. “But when I try to remember something happy, it’s a memory of a later event that stirs…the memory of a day when we skipped training to go for a swim in the river. It was spring.”

“We waded for a good part of the afternoon into a marvelous little cold stream running over a bed of round pebbles. We splashed each other, got into a water fight, swam a little. The water was cool, but the sun was warm…warmer than it should have been for spring in the Congregation. I must have been about seven or eight.” He did smile then, remembering how cold the water had been, how smooth the pebbles had felt beneath his feet, how they’d shrieked and laughed with a volume that only children at play could manage. He looked up, and saw de Sardet smiling back. “Isn’t it odd that appears to be my happiest memory?” he asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious. _It’s such a simple thing, wading in a pool._

But Alexandra de Sardet was as understanding as always. “No,” she replied. “It was a moment of freedom, you were carefree. I guess that’s why you remember it.”

“You’re right. Since that day, there hasn’t been much room in my life for being carefree. I’ve always had responsibilities.”

“I hope that there will be more time now…and that I can be more to you than a responsibility.” Without waiting for his reply, she met his eyes. “If you need to talk about what happened…if there is anything more I can do…I thought we would remain in New Serene for some time before venturing out on our next mission.”

Kurt’s heart beat faster, and he tried to cover his sudden discomfiture with a joke. “What? Do you think they’ve been missing us at the arena?”

“It wasn’t what I was thinking of, but if you’d like to become champions…”

“We’ll have to be careful. Torsten won’t have heard about the camp yet, but once he does, it might get more dangerous for you to venture in there.”

“You as well,” de Sardet replied. “You were more responsible for shutting down that camp than I was. If Commander Torsten learns of it…”

“We’ll have to be careful. If we stop appearing in the arena altogether, it’ll draw his suspicions.” Briefly, Kurt told de Sardet of Sieglinde’s hopes that she might keep them out of it entirely, or at least allay Torsten’s suspicions about his loyalty. “We shouldn’t stay in New Serene for too long, at least not once we know he’s found out about the camp.”

“It will be a careful balance, but we’ll manage.”

“We always do!” Kurt tried to affect a cheerful tone, but he couldn’t help worrying about what would happen once Torsten found out about Rolf’s death. _Can Sieglinde really keep him from finding out what happened there?_ Reiner’s friends knew he’d investigated their tip, and Lieutenant Hannelore had disclosed the location of the camp to him, but he doubted they would tell. _Hannelore’s first recruit died there, but she got her second recruit out alive._ Lydia, the only female recruit in the ghost camp, had been the recruit Hannelore had spoken of when she’d disclosed the camp’s location to him. _She’ll get her Reiner back, alive and well._

“It’s getting late today, but did you want me to go see Alaric tomorrow? I’m sure he’ll be glad that the Excellencies are back in town.”

“You might want to warn Vasco first,” de Sardet said, and at last she finally returned a smile. “I think he’ll want to be forewarned before we expect him to fight.”

“What? You don’t think the sailor will welcome the surprise? Well, we’ll tell him tonight.”


	72. The Sailor and the Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter; Vasco and Kurt have a discussion about loyalties.

“An arena challenge?” Vasco asked. “You think it’s a wise idea to head into the Coin Arena now?”

“Better now, while Torsten doesn’t know, than after he finds out,” Kurt said.

“If he finds out,” de Sardet added. “Major Sieglinde says that she will try to keep him from discovering that we had a hand in shutting down that camp.”

“He’ll learn of it eventually,” said Vasco. “I doubt that’s the sort of thing you can keep secret.”

“By the time he does, I hope we’re out on another mission,” said Kurt.

“It won’t be immediate,” de Sardet said. She gave him a look of concern. “I told you, we’ll be here for as long as you want.”

“De Sardet,” Aphra said, sticking her head into the dining room, where they had gathered. “Some of Bishop Petrus’s colleagues are here. They’d like to see you. They’re in the parlor.” She frowned. “I think I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Where is Siora?”

“Already in her room,” Aphra answered. “She heard them at the door and decided to retire.”

“We’ll stay here,” said Vasco.

“We will?” Kurt asked as de Sardet left.

“I’ve seen the diplomats the priests sent,” Vasco replied. “I doubt you’ll need to protect de Sardet from the likes of them.”

“They’re all trained in magic. All their priests are.”

“I doubt any of them would have any interest in harming the legate,” Vasco replied. “And Petrus is there if they are.”

“I don’t know why he’s so fond of Green Blood,” said Kurt. “Normally, that would make me suspicious, but…” He frowned. “I know he’d hiding something, but I don’t think he’s planning to harm her.”

“Neither do I,” said Vasco. “If he’d intended that, he’s had plenty of opportunities. He could have refused to help against that _nadaig_ in the swamp, or turned her over to the Ordo Luminis when she broke into that dead inquisitor’s house.”

“I don’t like thinking about that.”

“Or about a lot of things?” Vasco asked. “When you asked to meet me down here, I didn’t think it was to talk about arena fighting. Wait here.” He rose from the table and went into the kitchen, reappearing a moment later with two tall mugs and a pitcher of ale.

Kurt snorted in amusement. “You came prepared?”

“I thought you might want to talk. About the camp.” Vasco slid him a mug.

“Did Green Blood put you up to this?”

“No. But I’m sure she wouldn’t protest.”

Kurt cupped both his hands around the mug, looking down into it. “Sieglinde tells me to talk to someone, Siora won’t leave me alone, Petrus tells me he’ll find a priest if I don’t want to talk to him…it’s hard to believe you’re all doing this on your own.”

“It’s what friends do,” Vasco replied. He paused. “Before I was scullied, some of my friends promised me they’d be there for me when I found out about my family, if I wanted to talk. I’ve known Flavia for nearly half my life. I won’t say that talking to her about wanting to search helped, exactly…but it was better than when I decided to stop talking.”

He took a sip from his own mug. “I know that you’ll confide in de Sardet. But I also know there are things you won’t want to tell her…things she might not understand.”

“Green Blood is the kindest, most understanding, most gracious woman I’ve ever known,” said Kurt. “But I don’t want to burden her.”

“And there are things it would be hard to tell her,” said Vasco. “I understand that.” He grimaced. “You know that our guilds have some similarities in the way they trained us. I won’t lie; the Nauts may use corporal punishment, but I’ve never seen anything so brutal as what we saw in that camp. But you know there were similarities.”

They talked about it then: Vasco spoke of the punishments from old, embittered Nauts; the way he’d decided to try to stowaway on a ship when he was ten, not wanting to wait to turn twelve to become a cabin boy; the beating he’d taken from one of his instructors when the ship’s captain had returned him to their island. “But it was worth it. That captain remembered me, and I got to leave a year early.”

“I was ten when I arrived at that camp,” said Kurt. “Twelve when I left…almost thirteen.” He shook his head. “To think that it’s been twenty-two years! I’ll be thirty-five next week, but sometimes it feels like yesterday…and sometimes it feels like another life.”

Vasco filed that information away, wondering if de Sardet knew. “Until now, there were times when I could pretend it was another life,” Kurt said. “I tried to push it away, to forget. Bury it deep, don’t speak of it, pretend it never happened…but seeing that camp brought it all back. And it made me realize that I never truly forgot some of those lessons. Put your head down, obey orders, don’t question…the idea that first and foremost, I was a soldier of the Coin Guard, and that is all I could ever be. Seeing those boys there…their bodies…the way Torsten used and discarded them…” Kurt shook his head. “I’ve put my head down and closed my eyes to the Guard’s corruption for too long. I didn’t want to believe it was possible. I didn’t want to think that I’d given my life to an organization that’s rotten to the core.”

He took another long draught from his ale. “You still believe in the Nauts,” he said to Vasco. “You still believe in your people, to the point where you turned your back on your birth family.”

“The Nauts are better people than the d’Arcys could ever be.”

“Than your brother,” said Kurt. “You didn’t meet your parents.”

“They gave me up,” Vasco pointed out.

“But you didn’t try to meet them. You don’t want to meet them. You won’t forgive them for giving you up, but you don’t blame the Nauts for taking you.”

“The Nauts gave me a better life than they would have.”

“I wish I knew I could say that of the Guard. If they hadn’t taken me in, I don’t know what would have happened to me when Clara died. My wet-nurse,” Kurt explained. “My parents paid her to raise me. She died of the malichor less than a year after she signed me over to the Guard…or, rather, after my parents did. I never knew them.”

“I didn’t have a choice in joining the Guard, any more than you did in joining the Nauts…but if I hadn’t, I don’t know what would have happened to me. My parents didn’t want me; they didn’t even care enough to hand me over to another wet-nurse. They died a few years after that. But growing up in the Guard, being sent to that camp…I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Kurt looked down at his mug. “The Guard took me in; it might have kept me alive. Plenty of soldiers’ orphans don’t live to grow up…or they get taken and used in street brothels, or they join bandits’ gangs and become pickpockets and cutthroats, or they die of plague or malichor or the rot before they’re twenty. But I don’t know that I’m glad of it, exactly.”

“I wouldn’t be. I might have suffered under one tyrannical captain, but that was only a few years of my life,” said Vasco.

“The camp was only a few years of mine,” Kurt replied. “And the Guard has made me what I am. I have met officers who taught me about honor, loyalty, courage…who challenged me to do be better than I was, who lived up to the Guard’s ideals. I’m not sorry for that…and I’m not sorry about where it’s brought me. Joining the Blue-Silver, training Green Blood and His Highness, coming here…it’s a better life than the one I might have led.”

“But I still keep coming back to the idea that the Guard betrayed me…let me down. Every time I think that Torsten had a hand in this camp, and in the one on the continent…that Hermann is here…” His hand clenched around the mug tightly enough that his knuckles blanched, and Vasco looked at the handle with alarm, wondering if the whole mug might shatter under his grip.

“The Guard did betray you,” said Vasco. “Torsten and the men who follow him have betrayed your guild’s ideals and what it stands for…but they’ve also betrayed you.”

“How do I follow them? How do I reconcile my loyalty to the guild with my honor? If Torsten is planning something against the governors…”

“Then I think you owe your first loyalty to yourself,” said Vasco. “The way I look at it, the Nauts have never asked me to do anything that goes against who I am. I’ve had orders I disagreed with, yes, and taken punishments I didn’t deserve, but they’ve never asked me to compromise my identity, or the safety of my crew, or my duties to them.”

“If Torsten asks me to do something that goes against my honor, he doesn’t deserve my loyalty. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It wasn’t, but I think it’s a sound conclusion.” To Vasco, ‘honor’ was a nebulous concept, the sort of thing that nobility used to justify their more foolish actions, but he knew that Kurt meant something else by it. _He means integrity, character…what allows him to sleep at night._

“They used to try to beat that kind of thinking out of us,” Kurt said bleakly. “Thinking for yourself…thinking of yourself, of having integrity or making decisions or refusing to follow an order that was wrong…”

“On the _Sea Horse_ , you turned away from de Sardet like those scars were something to be ashamed of.”

“They were. I’m not proud of them.”

“You should be.”

“Says the man who squirmed when Constantin spoke of his.”

“Because I thought that de Sardet would see it as something to look down upon,” Vasco replied. “Most nobles see those scars as a badge of disgrace. In Serene, they only take the whip to convicted criminals; in the Bridge, they use it on their slaves. In Theleme, they prefer fire, but they’re not above using a whipping to torment so-called heretics. But none of them use the lash on nobility.”

“I didn’t want Green Blood to see because I knew it would upset her,” said Kurt. “And because I was ashamed. But I never thought she’d look down on me for it.”

“I should have known better,” said Vasco. “Even Constantin…he was appalled, but to him, it was an exotic punishment, another eccentricity of the Nauts. And I do think he had some sympathy for abuse that came because of a smart mouth and a quick tongue.”

“He does have some experience with that,” Kurt agreed.

“Though not nearly as much as either of us,” Vasco said. “In all honesty, I am astonished that you survived…and that you chose to stay with the Coin Guard after that. If the Nauts had done half as much to me, I would have left.”

“Even though your people don’t give you the choice.”

“I would have found a way.”

Kurt shook his head. “The Coin Guard was the only life I’d ever known. That’s hard to leave…and I did meet people like my first commander in the Bronze Shield, Captain Amos…or Sieglinde, in the Red Sun. People who made me believe in the Guard again.”

He looked down at his hands. “Besides, if I had left, who would have saved those boys? Who would have shut down that camp? Part of me thinks I owe it to the Guard to stay, to see that it’s reformed…and if I don’t owe the Guard itself, then I owe it to the recruits who experienced those same horrors.”

“It can’t all be your duty, Kurt,” Vasco replied, thinking of what Siora had said about Kurt and de Sardet. _Their first inclination is to give; neither of them think about taking for themselves._ “And if you had to make a choice between the Guard and yourself, I think you should choose yourself. There comes a point where you shouldn’t give yourself away.”

“What would you be if your people cut you loose? You see yourself as a Naut captain, but are you more than that?”

_I am Vasco of the Nauts,_ Vasco thought, but knew that it wouldn’t help Kurt. “You’re more than Captain Kurt of the Coin Guard,” he replied. “If your people cut you loose, you’d still have your place here.” _Just as I could stay on shore._ That thought pained him; he knew he would never be happy unless it was at sea.

_But Kurt would be happier with de Sardet than he would be anywhere else._ “The Coin Guard may have made you who you are, but you don’t owe them everything. You don’t owe them your very self.” Vasco paused. “Besides, the Guard might have done a great deal to make you who you are, but I don’t think they’re the only ones who’ve done that. You’ve been away from your barracks for a very long time.” _I cannot imagine being far from the sea for fifteen years._

Slowly, Kurt nodded, then drained his mug. “Thank you, sailor, for lending an ear.”

“Any time.”


	73. The Fourth Challenge

“Legate de Sardet and the Excellencies, champions of the fourth challenge!”

Vasco sheathed his sword, looking to his companions, and was glad to see they were both uninjured: Kurt was breathing hard, and de Sardet’s hair had come untied and was falling around her face, but neither looked as if they were in need of a healing potion.

“Vasco, are you all right?”

“Never better,” he answered, flashing a grin.

“Especially since you bet on us,” said Kurt. He wouldn’t let Vasco forget that he’d made himself a small fortune off of betting on de Sardet during her first foray into the arena, while Vasco hadn’t thought to place a bet.

Vasco hadn’t made the same mistake since. Each time their team had entered the arena, he’d bet on them, as had Kurt and de Sardet; it had become something of a ritual. Arena teams were permitted to bet on themselves to win, though not to lose; that was meant to prevent any single team member from attempting to throw the match.

“The odds were not as good as last time,” said Vasco. “The more we win, the more we’re favored…and I’ve heard that fewer people are betting against us with each victory.”

“Well, it makes sense. Who’d want to bet against us? Your rapier, my broadsword, Green Blood’s magic…those beasts never stood a chance.”

“Congratulations, my child,” Petrus said as they made their way into the stands. “You fought well…though I will admit that I do not like the idea of you risking yourself in this way, especially after our recent foray into the wilderness. It seems to me that an accident in the arena would be easy to arrange…which is undoubtedly why certain people wished to see you there in the first place.”

“There’s only one more challenge,” de Sardet replied. “I’m sure Alaric is already arranging it. After that, we will be champions, and I don’t think there will be any need for further appearances.”

“That will be dangerous,” said Petrus.

“Undoubtedly so,” Aphra agreed. She had come with them, albeit reluctantly; Vasco thought that the scholar looked even more out of place in the arena than the bishop. “Do you know what sort of creature you can expect to face for the final challenge?”

“I don’t,” de Sardet admitted. “It is always a surprise, Alaric says.”

“Well, those beasts today weren’t that bad,” said Kurt.

“ _Yorglan_ and _tenlan_ ,” Siora supplied.

“What’s wrong, pretty flower?”

“I do not like this arena fighting. My people hunt for food or materials to make our clothing, to drive away beasts from our homes and burial grounds, or to train our warriors, but we do not fight for sport.”

“You could call this training warriors,” Kurt said. “With an audience, but that’s how the arena got its start, they say. More than a thousand years ago, the empire that gave Gacane its name used to send its soldiers into combat pits with animals, to teach them how to fight. Eventually, they found out that those combats drew audiences who’d bet on the outcomes, and they started holding fights for their own sake. Eventually, they separated the trainings from the gladiatorial combats entirely, and the arena became its own entertainment.”

“The Coin Guard are not a thousand years old,” Aphra objected.

“No, but the tradition never died, and the Guard decided it was a good way to make money,” Kurt replied.

“I’m surprised you know so much about history, my son.”

Kurt gave de Sardet a fond look. “I had to stand guard while an old goat taught his two noble charges everything he could about ancient history. I might have gotten bored enough to listen, some of those times.”

De Sardet returned his smile. “I think you remember more than Constantin!”

“I am surprised he would not come,” said Aphra.

“Oh, he’s wanted to,” Kurt replied. “Since the first time he heard we were fighting here. But de Courcillon and the others won’t let him.”

“After all, it is unbecoming for a governor to make an appearance at a Coin Arena,” de Sardet said with a smile. “I’m sure that some of the courtiers are still scandalized that I’ve set foot in here, let alone as a participant in the fighting.”

“Not just a participant, Green Blood. You’re our team leader.”

“I am surprised Constantin hasn’t tried to sneak off to see you here,” said Vasco.

“He’s finding it harder than it was on the continent. A governor’s always being watched, and the city’s much smaller than Serene.”

“He will be disappointed that he didn’t get to witness our victory,” de Sardet agreed.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll have a celebratory supper for us tomorrow,” said Vasco.

“Or for de Sardet, at least,” said Aphra. “I doubt that the rest of us will be invited.”

“He may invite the sailor,” said Kurt. “Though I think he’s almost given up hope.”

“Let him,” said Vasco. “If I’d known I’d be scullied as soon as I got here, I never would have gotten involved in the first place.” He saw Petrus raise an eyebrow, but didn’t care. _The way Constantin talks, he’d find out sooner or later._ He grinned. “Besides, I think he’s already moved on.”

“If he’s not careful, our Bridger friend will be telling him she thinks he’s ugly, too.”

“If I thought it would convince him, I would call him ugly too,” Siora declared.

“What do you mean?” Aphra asked, eyes narrowing.

“I believe she means that Governor d’Orsay has a roving eye,” Petrus said, “and that it may have fallen upon you.” He paused. “I have heard that our young governor is fond of chasing girls…”

“And boys,” said Kurt. “Men, women…he’s not particular.”

“His father always attempted to keep that quiet,” de Sardet supplied, seeing Petrus’s frown. “He said that it was bad enough that Constantin was fond of visiting the Coin brothel instead of employing courtesans like a proper nobleman, but you know that it is frowned upon for noblemen to enjoy the company of those of the same sex.”

“Why?” Siora asked. “It should not matter who you love.”

“You don’t get many little princes that way, pretty flower. Nobles are all about their bloodlines.”

“Though it doesn’t make sense,” said Aphra. “I understand that the Prince d’Orsay would not want his son to wed another man, but why should it matter whether he employs male prostitutes or female? He would not want such a liaison to produce bastard children, and it seems that it would be safer if Constantin only engaged male prostitutes.”

Petrus choked a little, but de Sardet replied, “It was about appearances. It has always been considered more scandalous for members of the nobility to engage in relationships with those of the same sex; they are considered less proper.”

“Constantin was always fond of trying to embarrass his father,” said Kurt. “Here, though, it’s more about whoever catches his eye…and he’s always had an eye for beauty. It’s not a surprise he’s decided he likes you, pretty flower.”

“Careful, my son,” Petrus said, clearly amused at the look on Aphra’s face. “You’ll offend Lady Aphra.”

“I already warned her,” Kurt replied easily.

“Which I thank you for,” said Aphra. “I had not realized he was interested…and while I do have physical needs, I have no desire to sate those needs with your cousin, de Sardet.”

“That was not a mental image I needed,” Vasco muttered, loudly enough for Kurt and Siora to hear: the former grinned, while the latter stifled a laugh.

Meanwhile, de Sardet had let out an uncomfortable cough. “I’m…glad of that, I suppose,” she said awkwardly. “I told Constantin that I did not think you would be interested.”

“He asked?”

“He…spoke of you. In a flattering way, of course. He speaks well of all of you.”

“Except Kurt,” Aphra said.

“No,” de Sardet protested, but Kurt stopped her.

“I know how he feels, Green Blood.” Seeing de Sardet’s distress, he made a joke of it. “Don’t worry; I’m not interested either.”

“I’d hope he doesn’t find our friend the bishop attractive, either,” Vasco joined in. “Unless you mean to say he’s had something to say about him?”

That turned the conversation, and as they headed back to the legate’s house to celebrate, they spoke more of the evening’s victory and less of Constantin. It was late by the time they returned, but they celebrated nonetheless: the cook had broken open two fine bottles of wine and a variety of spirits, and promised a hot meal for them once the victors of the arena had enjoyed the hot bath that awaited each of them upstairs.

Vasco had to admit that he enjoyed that particular luxury: a full tub of hot water was unheard of aboard a sailing ship, and he washed himself clean of the arena’s filth with gratitude before returning downstairs, clad in the fresh coat and linens de Sardet had purchased for him.

Coming out of his rooms, he almost ran into Kurt, who was wearing fresh clothing of his own, though it nearly made Vasco do a double-take: the doublet he wore looked more like a nobleman’s than a guard’s.

“Green Blood gave it to me,” Kurt explained. “She thought I should have something that wasn’t Guard issue.”

“Well, no one would think you were a guard in that.” The doublet was the same deep blue as the one de Sardet favored while acting in her official capacity as legate, a rich midnight shade that Vasco associated with the Merchant Congregation and its princes, if only because of how expensive the dye had to be. “You look like a lord.” 

Kurt let out a guffaw. “That’ll be the day.”

As they came downstairs, Aphra looked at them both. “Well, if it isn’t the Excellencies,” she said. “You really do look like one, Kurt.”

De Sardet brightened as she saw Kurt in the doublet. “I’m so glad it fits! Do you like it?”

“It’s the finest doublet I’ve ever owned.”

“You should have one made for Vasco,” said Aphra. “Then they would both look the part.”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” Vasco warned her. “She’ll be buying you a full wardrobe next.”

“Maybe she should,” said Kurt. “It would be a sight to see her in a noble’s getup, wouldn’t it? All frills and lace and corsets.”

Aphra opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the cook appeared in the doorway, gesturing toward the dining room. “Excellencies? Your meal is served.”

“Thank you, Robert,” said de Sardet, even as Aphra said, “Excellencies? Is he using your fighting name now?”

“I do not think he knows what else to call us,” said Siora as they moved into the dining room. “But he is always friendly. Not like the other.”

“The other?” Aphra asked.

“De Sardet fired her butler because he thought that waiting on a Naut and a Coin Guard was beneath him,” Vasco offered.

“I wonder if he’d be more or less scandalized by waiting on two arena fighters,” said Kurt.

“Three arena fighters,” Vasco pointed out. “And, given that de Sardet is one of them, I’m sure the answer is more.”

De Sardet’s eyes sparkled, a smile tugging at her lips. “You have a point. I think that I would have scandalized him myself. Lady de Sardet, champion of the arena…I doubt that I was the legate he was expecting. I hope he is more at ease with his duties in the palace.”

“You fired your butler by promoting him to serve in the governor’s palace?” Aphra asked.

“Not exactly. Constantin does not need a second butler. I had him reassigned to the palace. I believe he is overseeing the cleaning staff.”

“Cleaning chamber pots and scrubbing the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush?”

“More likely inspecting chamber pots to make sure they’re properly cleaned,” Kurt said. “He’ll be supervising the poor sods who have to do the actual cleaning.”

“Actually, there aren’t enough servants in the palace to allow for someone to have an entirely supervisory position,” de Sardet spoke up. “He will have to do his fair share of the work.”

“Well, it’s certainly a step down in the world.” Vasco had to laugh. “All because the man couldn’t be civil.”

“I would not see him turned out in the streets to starve, but I hope he’ll come to regret his incivility.”

“I doubt he would starve in any case, my child,” Petrus said. “There is work enough for any man on this island, from what I understand. New construction is rising every day, not just in New Serene or San Matheus, but in new areas of the island.”

They ate readily, speaking of the victory in the arena and the triumph there. “Constantin will have a celebration for us tomorrow, I’m sure,” said de Sardet, then looked to Kurt and added, “ _All_ of us.”

After the meal, they moved to the parlor, but the celebrations didn’t last much longer: it was late, and Petrus was the first to retire. “I do not know how the three of you aren’t exhausted,” he said to de Sardet, Vasco, and Kurt.

“It’s the adrenaline from the fight,” said Kurt. “Keeps you awake. It’ll wear off soon enough.”

Aphra yawned. “I think I’ll join Father Petrus,” she said, then saw Siora starting to giggle and frowned. “In the sense that we’re both going to bed. Separately.”

“It feels like old times,” Kurt said as they trudged upstairs. “And by old times, I mean a few weeks ago, before we dug the Bridger out of her swamp and stopped by San Matheus for the priest.”

“You make her sound like a creature of the swamp,” Siora laughed. “Though I would say a _lewolan_ is more lovable than she is.”

“I won’t argue with you, pretty twig,” said Kurt. “Though she’s not as bad as she was.”

“The swamp wouldn’t improve anyone’s personality,” de Sardet said.

“I’d hate to have met the sailor if we’d left him there for a week,” Kurt agreed.

“There wouldn’t have been anything left of me to meet,” Vasco groused. “Those insects would have eaten me alive. What do you think they eat when they can’t get Naut?”

“Bridger scientist,” Kurt answered immediately. As he spoke, he reached toward Vasco for the flagon of wine that was on the table between them, only to suddenly grimace in pain.

De Sardet’s concern was immediate. “Kurt? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Bruised my shoulder in the fighting, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’ll heal up on its own.”

“Let me see,” de Sardet said, then paused and thought better of it. “I have my potions stored in the back parlor. I’m considering making it into an alchemist’s room.”

“It doesn’t need a healing potion.”

“Let me decide that,” de Sardet replied, and Vasco got the distinct sense that she was ready to march him to the parlor if necessary. “Come.” As they left, she glanced over her shoulder and added, “We’ll be back soon.”

“Father Petrus would be scandalized,” said Vasco as they went. “If it wasn’t de Sardet we’re talking about, I’d say she was trying to get him alone and undressed.”

“You did say that it was not done,” said Siora. “Then why would she not heal him here?”

“Because of the ghost camp. His scars,” Vasco said, realizing the truth as he voiced it. She didn’t want to force him to expose them again.”

“But we have already seen, and we know the truth.”

“Yes, but now the memories are raw.” Vasco had spoken to Kurt a handful of times since their return, sharing memories of his own training with the Nauts, and of the punishment he’d endured under his own unjust captain. _It’s nothing compared to what Kurt’s been through, but he needs to talk things over with someone who can understand, and no one else has come close to experiencing anything similar._

“It is kind of her.” Siora frowned. “I hope that Constantin will be kinder when we have this celebration.”

“I doubt it,” said Vasco. “He doesn’t know that Kurt was trained in a ghost camp like the one we shut down…and, from what I gather, he’s asked de Sardet not to tell him. Not that I can blame him for it; Constantin’s not the sort for sympathy.”

“I think he is jealous of the _on ol menawi_ ’s feelings for Kurt.”

“Jealous? He’s her cousin,” Vasco said, then paused. _I know nobles do things differently in the Congregation._ He’d learned from his own investigations into the Congregation’s customs that marriage between first cousins was not unheard of, particularly if the political alliance was tempting enough, or if wealth needed to be kept within a noble house. _But I never got the sense that Constantin saw de Sardet in that way._ He’d never caught Constantin looking at his cousin the way he’d eyed Vasco during the voyage, or the way he’d admired Siora more recently. _Or the way de Sardet looks at Kurt sometimes, for that matter._

“He is not used to sharing,” said Siora. “You have heard Alexandra speak of him. Until they came to Tir Fradi, they were always together. He does not like her spending time with others, or sharing her affection.”

“I don’t think Constantin has any idea about how she feels,” Vasco said. He raised his eyebrows. “Given that I don’t think either of them have admitted how they feel to themselves, I doubt de Sardet would tell anyone else.”

“She has told me,” Siora said with a smile. “She likes him. And I think he likes her.”

“Well, there’s no doubt about that. But I still don’t think she’d tell Constantin. I’m surprised she told you.”

“I told her,” Siora replied. “It was easy to see. Have you never noticed how she admires him? When we were in the swamp, she could not keep her eyes from him.”

“I was not at my most observant in that swamp.”

Siora couldn’t keep from smiling. “You were very itchy.”

“You’re right, though,” said Vasco. “You didn’t see them on the _Sea Horse_ , on our way here.” He felt a pang as he spoke of his ship – his former ship, he had to remind himself. _It’s Ruben’s now._ “Or even after we landed, when I asked them to go look for my records in the harbor office. There aren’t many Nauts of Kurt’s height and size, and the clothing we did manage to find for him was rather tight. Kurt didn’t appreciate it, but de Sardet did; I know that I’ve always thought our clothing flatters the wearer, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen de Sardet appreciate it the way she did when he was wearing it.” 

“I think that you are right,” said Siora, then paused to reassure him. “Though you are handsome too.”

“I’d hope I’m not vain enough to require the flattery, but thank you.” Vasco paused. “Anyway, I’m sure Constantin has no idea that his adorable cousin could see Kurt in that light.” Constantin was an inveterate talker, and between the days aboard ship, evening dinners, and nights in his cabin, he’d heard Constantin speak of his cousin’s love life, his captain of the guard, and his opinions on romance, among other things. _He spoke as if he didn’t think de Sardet ever looked at a man…that a teenage heartbreak had soured her on romance forever._ “In truth, I don’t think he gave a great deal of thought to it…it’s as if he thought that his affection should be enough for her, even if that affection was not romantic in nature.”

“He must see,” said Siora. “It is obvious.”

“To you and me? Definitely. But I think Constantin has a way of closing his eyes to things he’d rather not see.”

“He would rather not see his cousin happy?”

“He would rather not imagine she needed someone else to be happy,” Vasco replied. “I definitely don’t think he’d like the idea that Kurt could make her happy when he could not.”

“I do not know why he does not like him. Alexandra has spoken of how he protected them both.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt. And Constantin is a noble.” Vasco couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Kurt months ago, when Kurt had told him that Alexandra de Sardet was a far less typical noble than her cousin. _I was too busy resenting de Sardet to want to see it then…and perhaps a bit too blinded by desire at that._ Between the months-long journey from Teer Fradee and how busy he’d been in port preparing to take on his cargo and passengers, it had been far too long since he’d had anyone in his bed, and the combination of Constantin’s charm and his obvious interest had made Vasco willing to overlook the occasional thoughtless remark. _Along with the talking. You’d think he’d run out of breath eventually, but he always had something to say._

“He does not believe that the _on ol menawi_ could love another?” Siora asked.

“I don’t think he thinks she has a reason. He believes he’s enough for her…that she has no need for romance when she has him.”

“What of the needs of the body?”

“I definitely don’t think he thinks about that,” Vasco replied. As far as he knew, Constantin had never considered the possibility that his cousin had physical needs. _Nobles of the Congregation do like to maintain a double standard for men and women, but I cannot imagine him being the sort to care about his cousin’s honor…honor in the noble sense, of course._ When it came to noblewomen, the Merchant Congregation tended to conflate ‘honor’ with ‘chastity.’ _He might well have been happy to share me with de Sardet…but even that would be a reflection of his own interests._ “I think that he sees de Sardet as an extension of himself to the point that he cannot imagine her ever being romantically interested in someone he has no interest in.”

“And he does not think Kurt is pretty,” said Siora, then corrected herself as she saw Vasco’s smile. “Handsome.”

“Either,” Vasco agreed. _Even when he spoke of the noble she liked as a teenager, he spoke of admiring the man himself._ “I don’t think he can fathom the idea that de Sardet might have her own preferences.”

“He sees her as part of himself,” Siora agreed, scrunching up her face in disapproval. “I do not think he thinks of Kurt’s feelings at all.”

“I know he doesn’t,” Vasco agreed. “Kurt’s done a good job at acting as if he’s the soldier they wanted him to be, the sort of man who doesn’t have feelings about anything he’s asked to do, so long as he’s paid for it.”

“That is not him.”

“It isn’t,” Vasco agreed. _The more I see what the Coin Guard did to him, the more I’m grateful for the way the Nauts treat our own._ He might disagree with his people’s recruitment practices, but they weren’t unnecessarily cruel, and they didn’t attempt to discourage having emotion or developing individuality. _The Nauts want sailors who can obey orders in a crisis, but you can’t sail a ship without the ability to think on your feet and make quick decisions._

“The _on ol menawi_ laments that she did not know Kurt well enough, but I do not think that Constantin knew him at all,” said Siora. “It is as if he does not see him.” She shook her head. “I think that he does not know that Kurt likes his cousin. I do not even think he knows Kurt thinks that Alexandra is pretty.”

“I think he’d be affronted by the thought that Kurt would notice. He snapped at him for getting above himself just for disagreeing with him in public…he’d never think that Kurt would rise so far above his station as to have feelings for her,” Vasco said. “Though part of me thinks that’s half of what’s keeping Kurt back. If you told him you noticed how he felt, he’d deny it, because he’s talked himself into believing it’s impossible.”

Siora frowned. “Sometimes I think that Constantin knows. You say that he does not like Alexandra having others to care for, but he has been unkind to Kurt in ways that he has not been to either of us.”

“Well, as I’ve said, Constantin has no desire to bed Kurt,” Vasco said dryly. “That may be a part of it.”

“But not all.”

“No. A noble like Constantin would see Kurt as the lowest of us all. I may be a lowly Naut, but a captain’s rank means something, and I was born a d’Arcy of Serene. You may be a native of Teer Fradee, but you’re also the daughter of a queen.”

“A princess,” Siora said, and Vasco had to suppress a smile as he remembered how confused she had been when de Sardet had used that title to get her past the palace guards.

“Petrus is a bishop and an ambassador, and Aphra is a noblewoman of the Bridge Alliance. They’re both high-ranking members of their own countries, and Constantin would treat them well even if he didn’t think Aphra was pleasant to look at.” Vasco suspected that Constantin would have bedded Aphra if he could have, though the thought amused him more than anything. _I’d like to see him try. I suspect it might take Aphra some time to catch on if he tried to flirt…and I’d like to see her reaction when she realized the aim of his compliments._

“But Kurt is not,” said Siora.

“Kurt is not,” Vasco agreed. “Of all of us, he’s the least-important. A captain of the Coin Guard isn’t a major or a commander; he doesn’t have any kind of political influence. He was an orphan before he came of age, raised by a camp follower – a prostitute of such low status that she could not find work in a Coin brothel, but stayed with the army in hopes of servicing soldiers on the march. He has no claim to nobility or power.”

“That doesn’t make him any less a good man…but it does mean that Constantin has never thought of him as anything but a servant. One he’s familiar with, even outwardly friendly, to a certain extent…someone he’d trust, as far as he trusts anyone who isn’t de Sardet. But Constantin would never think of him as an equal…which means he’d never consider him his cousin’s equal, either.”

“Which means he would never think she could love him,” said Siora. “He is an idiot.”

Vasco laughed. “I won’t disagree with you on that.” They heard footsteps in the hallway, and he grinned. “I think we’re living with a pair of idiots, too. How long do you think it’ll take one of them to say something?”

“Too long,” Siora answered, just as Kurt and de Sardet reappeared.

“—just a bruise,” Kurt was saying. “You’re overreacting.”

“It was a bruise that was larger than my hand, and it hasn’t been that long since the fight. I shudder to think of what it might have looked like tomorrow. Next time, tell me if you’re hurt. Don’t try to hide it.”

“Well, what about you, sailor?” Kurt asked. “Are you hiding any cuts or bruises?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t say anything now,” Vasco laughed. “I’m not looking for a lecture. I’d quietly sneak off and have Siora heal me instead.”

“You’d be in trouble tonight, sailor,” said Kurt. “I think the pretty flower’s starting to wilt.” Siora was yawning, her head drooping as she rubbed at her eyes.

“We should all get to bed,” de Sardet agreed.

As he got to his feet, Vasco saw the way de Sardet looked at Kurt, and the way his arm hovered just behind her waist, looking as if he wanted to steady her, but didn’t quite dare touch her. _Constantin might not want to see it, but I have no idea how he intends to stay blind._


	74. The Champions' Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, transitioning into some more light-hearted moments (a birthday party!)

“To my dear cousin and her captains!” Constantin raised his glass, and the others followed suit.

“To the Excellencies, champions of the fourth challenge of the arena,” Petrus agreed.

De Sardet smiled as she saw Siora raise her glass; their previous celebrations had taught her the rules of a toast. “To my _caranten_ , Alexandra, Kurt, and Vasco.”

Aphra lifted her own glass. “Congratulations. Your victory was truly impressive.”

“I only wish I could have been there to see it! Alas, my advisors lack a sense of fun. I swear, one of these times, I will sneak away, even if I must visit the arena incognito.”

“I do not think that wise, Your Highness,” Petrus advised him. “We do not believe that Commander Torsten is aware of what has transpired in the ghost camp as of yet, but if we are wrong…”

“That arena-master made it sound as if it would be some time before we could participate in the final challenge,” said Vasco. “I don’t know if it’s because he needs some time to summon a champion team from another city to challenge us, or if it’s because he wants some time to drum up excitement, but I don’t think we’ll be fighting again any time soon.”

“There’s always a month or two before an arena championship,” Kurt agreed. “He’ll want to find a team to give us a good fight, and probably some beasts besides. And he’ll want time to convince people to place bets.”

“Do you think people will bet on us?”

“Why wouldn’t they, Green Blood? We’re undefeated, and that was an easy victory.”

De Sardet thought that the fighting had done Kurt some good, giving him an outlet for any anger he’d pent up after the ghost camp. _He handled all of those monsters with ease. I felt as if I barely had to lift a hand to stop them._

“I will certainly bet on you!” Constantin told her grandly.

“The rest of us have already made a small fortune,” said Vasco.

“Yes, and I have heard of Kurt’s charity to the family of his recruit,” said Constantin. “In fact, I thought it such a good idea that I have decided to establish a fund for the families of the recruits who died in that ghost camp.”

“Come now, Kurt, don’t look so surprised!” Constantin said, though de Sardet had to admit that she felt as astonished as Kurt looked. “It is a noble idea, helping to support the families of those men.”

“The Guard will give them a death benefit, but it’s not enough,” said Kurt. “Nothing will bring those kids back…but it’s more than Torsten would give.”

“It will certainly be more than you could afford,” said Constantin, and de Sardet winced. “I did not mean it that way! Only that you should not have to impoverish yourself to support the family of a dead recruit when it is the Coin Guard that ought to be doing so.”

“Torsten shouldn’t have put these kids in harm’s way to begin with,” Kurt said, and de Sardet saw his brow knit, a dark look clouding his face. “He’s murdered them, and the Guard will pay out a blood price that’s a fraction of what it should be.”

“So the Congregation will make up for the lack,” Constantin answered, his tone still bright. “Commander Torsten will be brought to justice for his crimes one day…once we have more evidence, to be sure. But until then, we must do what we can.” He turned to de Sardet. “Is that not true, my lucky star? What do you think of my scheme?”

“I think it is very kind,” she replied, but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of discomfort. _Is he doing this to prove a point? Is he trying to show me that he is indeed charitable toward those he has hired?_ She felt bad; she had never questioned Constantin’s motives before. _I always believed they were the same as my own._ “It will not bring back the dead recruits, but it will help the families they have left behind.”

“They will want for nothing,” Constantin said grandly. “Kurt, do you think you can get a list of the dead recruits?”

“It may be best if you wait,” Petrus intervened. “Allow Major Sieglinde to handle the dispersal of the camp. I am sure she will be keeping records of the recruits who were sent to that camp, along with which of them lived and which died.”

“In the meantime, it might be better if you’d help the survivors,” Kurt offered. “Sieglinde will do what she can to keep them safe, but some of them may want to leave the Guard, and some may not be able to stay in after what they’ve been through. They’ll need support.”

“I will send word to Eseld,” Siora offered. “She will be glad to offer healers. There may be other villages that will also be willing to help.”

“Cosnach, the native merchant I helped, is from a village called Vignamri,” said de Sardet. “He has been asking me to go to his village to visit his mal. Perhaps this _Mal_ Ullan will be willing to help.”

Siora made a face. “I do not like Ullan,” she said. “My mother hated him. She said that he was too fond of _renaigse_.”

“That may be a mark in his favor,” Petrus said. “If he is truly that eager to please, he may be willing to help.”

But Siora shook her head. “He cannot. Vignamri does not have many _doneigada_. My mother said that once, they had a _doneigad_ who was as skilled as any on Tir Fradi, but she was taken by _renaigse_. Many of their warriors died trying to save her, but the village has been in decline ever since.”

“Even so, cousin,” said Constantin, “your next visit might be to this Ullan. Have you visited this village before?”

“Vignamri? I’m afraid not. I believe we may have passed it on the way to Hikmet.”

“It is near the coast,” Siora offered. “They were a tribe known for making beautiful things from the bones of the whales that washed up on shore.”

“I will gladly go…but I hoped to remain in New Serene for a time,” de Sardet said, doing her best not to glance at Kurt. _I don’t want him to have to worry about protecting me in the wilderness. I don’t want him to have to worry about anything. He should have time to talk to Vasco, or Siora, or Petrus, or anyone who can help. If he needs to speak with any friends in the barracks, if Sieglinde can console him…I do not want to act as if this never happened and he was unaffected by the things we saw there._ She remembered how hoarse his voice had been as he’d told her of the first ghost camp, and how haunted he had looked. _I would like to help him heal._

Constantin seemed entirely unaware of the direction of her thoughts. “But of course, my fair cousin! I would hate for you to think that I’m trying to send you away. I’ve missed you so! Please, stay in the city for as long as you like, I will make your excuses to any of the ambassadorial delegations that come to see me…do you know how tiresome they are? I don’t know how my father bears it.”

He went on about the delegations that came to New Serene, showering him in gifts, offering bribes to help persuade him to agreement on one issue or another. “They think me a young, helpless rabbit surrounded by sly, cunning foxes…but I will prove them wrong!”

Petrus gave her a meaningful glance as Constantin spoke, and de Sardet knew that he wanted her to reconsider his offer. “Every one of those foxes has a skeleton buried in a closet, a scandal of the past,” he said aloud. “If you were to learn of those, you would have a great advantage.”

Constantin rubbed his hands together. “How I would love to turn the tables! For them to see me as their equal rather than their prey…but I don’t know where I would begin! How would I learn anything scandalous about Governor Burhan? Or Mother Cardinal Cornelia, for that matter?”

“There are ways,” Petrus began.

“Which would not be honorable,” said de Sardet. “I thought that you wanted to leave the court behind, Constantin. I know that I do. Blackmail and bribery are tools unworthy of you.”

Constantin sighed. “I suppose you are right. I did not come here to reproduce my father’s court in miniature. I wish to make something of my own, something better, newer, without the corruption of the old world!”

“Speaking of the old world, there were no letters from Serene while I was away, were there?”

“No. With the time that it takes to travel to the continent, it’s not surprising, but I don’t miss them! My father’s next letter will certainly be full of his usual disdain, and as for my mother, you know her! She’s probably too busy plotting her next assassination to have noticed my absence.”

 _But what of my mother?_ de Sardet wanted to ask. _Your father would send word of her. I miss her so._ “I think they miss you,” she ventured. “I hope they will write soon.”

“I don’t,” said Constantin. He turned, indicating for a servant to pour him more wine. “Some of the white, please.”

Kurt leaned over. “I’m sorry, Green Blood. I know you’re hoping to hear word.”

“I know when we do hear, it will not be good.”

“But waiting for something bad to happen can be almost as bad as when it does,” said Kurt. “I know it isn’t easy.”

“I’ve been sending letters to my uncle, and I know that when something happens, he will tell me,” said de Sardet. “But I had hoped that Mother would send word somehow. Lady de Nicolet would have helped her write a letter if she is too ill to hold a pen, but…if she is too ill to compose a letter…”

She choked up then, and pressed her napkin to her mouth, blinking back tears. “Is something wrong, cousin?” Constantin asked, noticing.

“No,” she managed. _I don’t want to ruin the dinner. This is supposed to be a celebration of our victory._ “Not at all. I…inhaled a bit of food.”

She put the napkin back in her lap, but felt the lump in her throat.

A moment later, to her surprise, she felt the press of Kurt’s hand against hers. She gripped it tightly, grateful for the comfort. “Will you be all right, Green Blood?”

She nodded; the touch lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough, a reminder that her friends cared for her. “When we do learn that the worst has happened…”

“I will be there,” Kurt promised. “And so will Siora, Vasco, Petrus, Constantin…even Aphra, though I don’t know that she’s going to be much good at offering condolences. Though, if it comes to that, I’m not sure Constantin will be much consolation, either. If word came that one of his parents died, we’d be throwing the largest party this island has ever seen.”

That made de Sardet smile; the lump in her throat gave way to a choked laugh. “I can’t imagine the other governors’ reactions.”

“Or Lady de Morange and the other courtiers? They wouldn’t know what to do.”

Now, Constantin did notice her smile. “It is good to see you so cheerful! I hope that you will all be of good cheer. To my champions of the arena!”


	75. Party Planning

But de Sardet found that her mood persisted, and soon, her companions began to notice.

“ _Carants_ ,” Siora said. “You seem unhappy.”

“Do I?” De Sardet knew she had been out of spirits since their return from the ghost camp; she had resumed her ordinary duties in New Serene, meeting with Father Petrus’s fellow diplomats from the Theleme, drafting letters home, and entertaining a group of merchants from the Bridge Alliance who had come to thank her for her role in ending the attacks on their caravans, but nothing seemed quite right.

“I know you are sad because of what we saw in the ghost camp,” said Siora. “You see that Kurt is sad, and you share his sadness.”

“Don’t say that in front of him,” Vasco cautioned, overhearing. “He’ll think he’s burdening her.” 

“I have told him that he is not a burden to any of us,” Siora said. “But he has noticed you are sad, _on ol menawi_.”

“I wish I could do something to cheer him. I know that our encounter there reopened old wounds, and that they will take time to heal, but…” De Sardet frowned. “I wish I could do more.”

“Think of it as setting a bone,” Vasco suggested. “Painful, but if you don’t do it, it will never heal correctly…and, no matter what you do, it takes time to heal properly.”

“Not if you have healing potions.”

“The Nauts save our healing potions for more serious matters, especially when at sea. And some captains may feel that living with a broken bone for a few weeks is a better teacher than having it healed up in a few nights.” 

“You speak as if this happened to you,” Siora said. 

“As a cabin boy,” Vasco admitted. “I fell from the spars once. Broke my leg. The first mate told me I was lucky it wasn’t my neck. It healed well, but only because the ship’s surgeon took care of it.” He grimaced at the memory. “A cabin boy who can’t walk isn’t much good to anyone. I had to beg not to be scullied. Thankfully, the captain was merciful and I kept my post, but it isn’t one of my fondest memories.”

“I think you would be a bad patient, _carants_ ,” Siora teased him. “I cannot imagine you sitting still.”

“Or lying in bed for weeks on end,” de Sardet agreed.

“Lying in my bunk? I broke my leg, they didn’t cut it off.” 

De Sardet laughed. “I think Siora is right.”

“I think you’re changing the subject,” Vasco shot back. “It’ll take time for Kurt to move on from this, but I think he is coping with it. He’s talked with me, and I know he’s been talking with you.”

“And me,” said Siora. “He asked about my people’s techniques for healing the mind. For the _cengots_ at this camp of ghosts, he said, but I think it was for himself as well.”

“He has spoken with me as well,” said de Sardet. _It seemed to help him…to be able to speak of such painful memories, even after such a long time, when he could never speak of them to anyone before._ She knew he was trying not to burden her; he had apologized more than once, and she suspected he was trying to soften the worst aspects of the camp, either to avoid giving her nightmares of her own or to keep her from pitying him. “But I wish I could do something more for him.”

“We could all use something to cheer us,” said Vasco. “Between the misery of that swamp and the horrors of that camp, we could all use some fun…a holiday, of a sorts.” He paused. “Perhaps a birthday celebration?”

“It’s your birthday?” De Sardet knew that Vasco had been delighted to discover his birthday in his files; the Nauts did not celebrate birthdays, and incremented all their sailors’ ages from the New Year.

Vasco laughed. “No, mine is still months away. I turned twenty-four on the crossing from New Serene to Serene, on the voyage to come and get you. I won’t be twenty-five for months.”

“To think, we’re less than a year apart in age,” said de Sardet. “If you had grown up in the Congregation, we would have been tutored together.”

Vasco made a face. “I cannot imagine that would have been to my liking,” he said. “Not that I would have minded the pleasure of your company, but the idea of growing up among a slew of young nobles – growing up to _be_ like them – I picture myself as an unrepentant snob like Bastien and give thanks that my family didn’t want me.”

“Being raised among nobility doesn’t mean that you’d be like him,” de Sardet said. “I do not think I turned out poorly.”

“You’re a special case, de Sardet.”

Her face fell. “Am I truly that unique?” She thought again of Constantin. _He was friendlier at dinner, but I know what he truly feels, deep down._ That would only change slowly, given time, and perhaps given enough prodding on her side.

From the look Vasco gave her, he knew what she was thinking. “You and your cousin are the first nobles I’ve ever seen enjoy the crossing celebration…let alone participate. But yes, I do think you’re more open-minded than Constantin.”

“Mother always raised me not to look down on others, to see those who served us as people with needs and wants of their own. Constantin’s parents raised him to do the opposite. My uncle views the Coin Guard in the way that Commander Torsten believes every member of the nobility does: as useful pawns to be sacrificed and disposed of at need, as men and women whose lives are bought and paid for, and to be used only to protect our own.” De Sardet looked upset. “My aunt views servants as less than human…creatures who exist only to serve her needs, without feelings or thoughts of their own. Mother always told Constantin not to pay them any heed, but sometimes I wonder if he absorbed more of their lessons than he would like to admit.”

“I don’t think he’s quite that bad,” Vasco replied. “If anything, I’d say he looks to himself before others, but that’s not uncommon among nobles – most of you are self-absorbed.” He laughed. “Though I’m not the one to be saying that about others, given how I was when we met.” De Sardet started to protest, but Vasco lifted a hand. “That’s not my point, de Sardet. My point is, between your own character, your upbringing, and the freedom you’ve found here, you’re the most open-minded noble I know. Constantin hasn’t had the benefit of any of those things. If he’d been on the road with us, spent the time with Kurt that you have here, I’m sure he wouldn’t have been so dismissive. If he’d seen that camp firsthand, he’d be more understanding.”

“I wish there was something more I could do.”

“If you’re talking about making your cousin treat Kurt more like a friend than a guard, I’m not sure if there’s anything you can do there…but if you’re hoping to cheer the rest of us, I have a suggestion.”

“A birthday celebration, you said. But whose?”

“Kurt’s,” said Vasco.

“Kurt’s birthday?” _I’ve known him for fifteen years, but I never knew when his birthday was. He never offered, and I did not think to ask._ “I did not know.”

“In a week,” said Vasco. “He said so, though he did not name a particular day.”

“Sieglinde will know. Or Manfred.”

“It will be more difficult for you to meet with Sieglinde without arousing suspicions. But Manfred has all the records for the troops. That shouldn’t be hard to get.”

“I’d like to do something for him. In Serene, I never thought to ask. I suppose I assumed that he would go out with his fellow guards in the barracks.” A guilty look crossed her face. “I never paid enough attention.”

“Knowing you, I suspect you’ll rectify that oversight immediately.”

“We should have a celebration,” said de Sardet. “Supper, at least, and gifts. And I’d like it to be a surprise.”

“How are you going to keep him from finding out?”

“We never had a celebration for my birthday.” De Sardet had turned twenty-five just before coming ashore; in the bustle of preparing to make landfall, the crew of the _Sea Horse_ had not had time for the elaborate celebration Constantin had envisioned, and he had sworn repeatedly that he would have a grand party for his cousin as soon as they were properly settled in at the palace. _We both got swept up in our duties._ Constantin had spoken of a grand celebration a few times in the fortnight immediately after, but nothing had ever come to pass. Alexandra de Sardet hadn’t minded; she was fonder of small gatherings than large parties, and had been pleased that she wouldn’t have to treat her birthday like a diplomatic function. _The most celebration we had was in Vasco’s cabin the night before we sighted the island. Kurt, Constantin, Vasco, and I had supper in his cabin, and we listened to some of the Nauts play music while we tried to pretend we could see Teer Fradee on the horizon._

“We’ll tell him that we’re celebrating mine,” de Sardet decided. “We’re only a few months late, and Kurt will know that Constantin has been speaking of doing something more.”

“Is this something your people do?” Siora asked. “Celebrate the day of your birth?”

“It is done in the Congregation, yes,” said de Sardet. “Do your people not celebrate the same?”

“We do not celebrate the anniversary of our birth for ourselves,” Siora replied. “When we are children, parents may celebrate the memory of that day, but it is a celebration of family, the way that couples who have bonded will celebrate the anniversary of that day. But we do celebrate the day of our bonding.”

“The Nauts do not celebrate birthdays,” said Vasco. “Until I read my file, I didn’t even know the day I was born.”

“I do not think Kurt has ever had a birthday party,” said de Sardet. “At least, not while in Serene. He never spoke of taking an evening off for his birthday, and he was always on duty.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll make it memorable,” said Vasco.

“How do your people celebrate?”

“It depends,” said de Sardet. “My uncle would always have some sort of dinner to acknowledge the occasion, and usually a ball; he said it was appropriate for someone of our stature. I did like the dancing,” she admitted with a smile, “and the music was always lovely, but my favorite part of the holiday was always that my mother would arrange to have a birthday luncheon, just the two of us. We would have a holiday away from the city, after my uncle had the appropriate celebration…a quiet few days in the countryside, a chance to walk outdoors in the early autumn weather, when the air is crisp and the sky is so blue…the sky never seems so blue in Serene, but away from the city, where the trees are so alive and the air is fresh…” Her voice trailed off.

“Last year, we went to the palace at Orsay Lake. We had a picnic outdoors. I knew Mother was ill, but I did not realize it would be the last time we celebrated in that way.” She felt the lump in her throat as she remembered. “I should have known,” she managed, “but I did not want to believe it.” _She didn’t go riding._ Alexandra de Sardet was a passable rider, but her mother had loved horseback riding, and their visits to Orsay Lake had usually included an afternoon riding out around the lake, enjoying the trails that crossed the estate. _She was too tired to ride, or perhaps in too much pain. I should have realized it then._ Jeanne de Sardet was a skilled equestrian, and had loved riding as much as her daughter loved walking the trails.

“I am sorry, _carants_ ,” said Siora. “I know how difficult it is. But your mother would not have wanted you to look back on those memories with sorrow.”

“Did Constantin go with you?” Vasco asked.

De Sardet shook her head. “He would more often, when we were small, but he never enjoyed the country as much as I did…or, at least, we enjoyed different pursuits. I have always liked quiet walks through the forest trails or the gardens, or perhaps taking a book and reading by the lake…or going out sailing on the lake and enjoying the sunlight and fresh air. I have always loved the quiet stillness of the outdoors, of being a part of something greater. The endless sky above, the beauty of the trees and grasses, the only sound being wind and birdsong…”

“It reminds me of how I feel about being at sea,” said Vasco. “Sky and sea for as far as you can see, the feeling of being alone and free and knowing that you and your crew are the only people for miles, the fresh salt breeze…it’s all part of why I love being a Naut.”

“I would have said it is part of being _on ol menawi_ ,” Siora said. “Being one with your land, feeling the connection between you, being reminded that you are part of something greater.”

“For me, there was always an aspect of leaving the court behind,” de Sardet admitted. “In the countryside, there were no courtiers to spy on me, no one to gossip or plot. I did not have to worry about the watchful eyes of the court, or about keeping up appearances.”

“It was like climbing the spars,” Vasco said. “When I’ve climbed up into the crow’s nest, I’ve always felt as if my worries were a thousand fathoms away, deep beneath the sea. You felt the same way.”

 _You were carefree._ De Sardet remembered herself telling Kurt why she understood the memory of an afternoon spent wading was his happiest memory. _I understood him better than I knew._ “Yes,” she said. “I could always leave my responsibilities behind.”

“I’m surprised Constantin didn’t feel the same way,” said Vasco.

De Sardet had to smile. “Constantin always preferred to leave his cares behind by going to a tavern. He hated the stillness of the outdoors, and he said that any solitary pursuits were never truly solitary, since we always had our guards with us.”

“Your cousin does not like being outside?” Siora asked, her brow furrowing.

“Constantin prefers other outdoor activities. He’s very fond of riding and hunting,” de Sardet replied. “Particularly, riding while hunting. Fox hunting is a very important sport among the nobility in the Congregation.” She wasn’t sure if ‘sport’ adequately described it: the fox hunts were enormous gatherings, a social activity as much as a sport, with dozens of noblemen and noblewomen riding out with packs of hounds, servants to beat the bush and to keep the hounds in line, the guards meant to prevent any assassinations disguised as hunting accidents, and the poor fox trying to escape it all.

She did her best to describe it, though she couldn’t hide her distaste. “I have never liked it,” she said. “Mother always went; she is a superb horsewoman, and it was expected of her. But she did not force me to attend…at least, not after my first hunt.” De Sardet described how she had burst into tears when the fox had died. “The sound it made…that pathetic keening…I pitied the poor animal. I have never objected to hunting for food or pelts, but…”

“I understand,” said Siora. “We honor animals by using them. Their deaths are part of a cycle. But hunting when there is no use for the animal defies the natural order of things. It is wasteful and cruel.”

De Sardet nodded. “Constantin has never seen the difference.” _Another difference between us that I have always been blinded to._ “He loves hunting…at least, hunting that involves riding to hunt.” He was less enamored of deer hunting, which involved crouching in a blind for hours at a time, and required absolute silence during those long, cold morning hours.

“Does he have a fox hunt for his birthday?” Vasco asked.

“He can’t. Constantin’s birthday is in midsummer. Winter is the season for fox hunting.” De Sardet smiled. “Besides, Constantin has always preferred to celebrate his birthday in the city. His father has always insisted on holding a grand celebration of some sort, usually a state dinner and a ball, but Constantin always overindulges on his own in the days afterward. When he turned twenty-five, he disappeared into Serene for more than a day.”

Constantin had told her afterward that he’d determined to spend twenty-five hours in the Coin Tavern and the adjoining brothel; Kurt hadn’t even tried to end his celebrations early, instead posting a rotation of guards to make sure nothing happened to him. “I went with him for a few drinks, but left after a few hours.” That had been at both Kurt’s insistence and Constantin’s: the celebrations had grown more raucous, the tavern more dangerous, and they’d both agreed it was no place for a noblewoman of the Merchant Congregation.

“I can’t imagine that Kurt was happy you went in the first place,” said Vasco. “The Coin Tavern in Serene is…well, I think Kurt would call it ‘dicey,’ at least after dark.”

“He wasn’t, but he knew that I couldn’t let Constantin celebrate alone.”

“Yes, I can see that, given the trouble he got himself into when you didn’t accompany him,” Vasco said dryly.

“Is that what we are doing for Kurt’s celebration, _carants_? A party in the tavern?”

Vasco smiled wryly. “I can only imagine how red he’d turn if you took him to the brothel.”

De Sardet felt her own cheeks flush at the thought. “I thought we would have a party here.” She thought of what he had told her about his happiest memory. “There is a stream out in the wilderness, just past the old windmill. If the weather is fine, I thought we might spend the afternoon there, then return to the house for a fine dinner, and to unwrap gifts. We give gifts to people on their birthdays,” she explained to Siora.

“You’ve already given each of us a new wardrobe, and I’ve seen how fond he is of that new sword,” said Vasco. “What else are you going to get him?”

“The bookseller in the Silver District has a collection of Sir Dumont’s novels,” said de Sardet. “I could purchase those.” She paused. “And it might be my chance to give him back some of the coin that he gave to Reiner’s family. But…” A thought occurred to her. “He is very skilled at working with his hands.”

“He’s a better carpenter than the _Sea Horse_ ’s,” said Vasco.

“He is very good at repairing armor, as well,” Siora offered.

“I have been thinking about converting the back parlor into a laboratory where I can mix potions,” said de Sardet, “but it is a large room, and there is space for a workbench as well. I think he might appreciate a space of his own to work.”

“I think he’d like that,” Vasco agreed. “But what are we going to get him?”

“I do not have any money,” Siora said sadly.

“I’ll be happy to help,” de Sardet told her. “After everything that has happened, he deserves the best celebration we can manage.”

Petrus and Aphra were both willing to go along with the plan. “That is kind, my child,” Petrus told her when she spoke of her plan. “But how do you intend to keep Kurt from finding out? He will certainly notice that you are planning some sort of celebration.”

She explained about pretending to have a party to celebrate her own birthday. “It has been a few months, but not long enough to make him think anything is amiss. And we were so busy with coming ashore and learning our new duties here, we never did anything.” De Sardet explained her plans: an afternoon spent enjoying the outdoors, followed by an evening’s dinner with gifts. “If you have any other ideas for the celebration, I would be glad to hear them.”

Petrus smiled. “I usually celebrate my own birthday with a bottle of wine and a quiet night in.”

“With a favorite book, no doubt,” Aphra needled him.

“I would hope you would apologize to Kurt for assuming his illiteracy,” Petrus replied. “Perhaps you should think of purchasing one for him.”

“And you’ll provide the alcohol?”

“Certainly.” Petrus turned to de Sardet. “Do you know what he likes to drink, my child?”

“I’m not sure,” de Sardet admitted. “I don’t think he’s particularly fond of wine.”

“I’ll make inquiries at the tavern,” said Petrus. “Or possibly the barracks. I believe that he is friends with the quartermaster there; he will know.”

“Just make sure that Manfred doesn’t ruin the surprise.”

“I will tell him that I wish to know in order to offer him a bribe,” Petrus replied with a smile. “I believe that Quartermaster Manfred will believe that more readily than the idea that the ambassador from Theleme and the legate of the Merchant Congregation are conspiring with a native shaman, a scholar of the Bridge Alliance, and a Naut captain to throw a party for the captain of the governor’s guard.”


	76. Birthday Gifts

“What’s this?” Kurt asked.

“We are having a party,” Siora declared. “For Alexandra.”

“Why?”

“Bishop Petrus found out that she never properly celebrated her birthday,” Vasco said. “Personally, I don’t understand the fuss…the Nauts do not celebrate the day of our birth.” He paused. “What about you?”

Kurt thought of his own birthday. _I’ll be thirty-five in a few days, and I doubt anyone else will notice._ “In the Guard, we might go out for drinks,” he said. “I haven’t done it in years…not since Sieglinde and Manfred left for New Serene.”

“When is your birthday, _carants_?”

“Soon, actually,” said Kurt. “I’ll be thirty-five in a few days. Not that I’ll be doing anything! Sieglinde’s told me to keep my distance, and I don’t want Manfred getting caught up in any of this.” He paused. “What does the bishop want to do for Green Blood?”

“A party,” said Vasco, at the same time Siora said, “Presents.”

“So, a typical Congregation celebration,” said Kurt. “Tell him to keep it small. No courtiers and politicians. She’ll want Constantin to come, but I’d ask her before you go inviting anyone else. If you bring de Morange and de Courcillon into it, it turns into a state dinner, and then it’s work.” He paused. “She likes music, though. Mostly because it means dancing. Though I don’t know where you’ll find musicians.”

“Or a dance partner,” said Vasco. “Unless you think Bishop Petrus knows?”

_He might not, but I do._ Kurt didn’t volunteer that information, suspecting Vasco would find the tale of how he’d learned to be far too amusing. “Constantin would always serve,” he offered. “And she likes lemon cake, if you can get it. It’s her favorite.”

“What about you?” Siora asked.

“Plum,” he replied. “There’s nothing sweeter than plum pie washed down with a glass of cherry wine. Though I couldn’t tell you the last time I had any. But Green Blood will prefer anything with lemons, and cake's the traditional dessert for a birthday in the Congregation.” Kurt paused. “We should all get her gifts. She’s used to having a picnic with her mother and a fancy dinner at the palace. What do you plan to get her?”

“I do not know,” Siora said.

“Well, if you need some coin, I’ll help.” Kurt couldn’t imagine that Siora had much in the way of Congregation currency. “We’ll have to wait until she has business at the palace, or until she gets absorbed in her paperwork here, but we can find a time to go shopping.” Siora laughed, though Kurt didn’t understand why. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, _carants_.”

“You should talk to the Bridger,” Kurt told Vasco. “Make sure she knows to behave herself.”

“I thought the nobles of the Bridge celebrated birthdays in a similar way to those of Theleme and the Congregation.”

“They do,” said Kurt; he hadn’t spent much of his time in the Green-Azure around nobility, but from what he’d seen, the nobles of one nation were much like those of another. _All of them except Green Blood._ “But it’s this particular noble I’m concerned about.”

“I see your point,” Vasco said dryly. “Somehow, I doubt that Lady Aphra is much fun at parties.”

Kurt spent the next few days caught up in preparations: having heard that de Sardet’s mother had often arranged for a countryside picnic, Vasco suggested they do the same. Siora insisted on helping prepare that meal, saying that it would be part of her gift, and Vasco promised to take Siora out shopping.

Instead of shopping, Kurt made plans to make de Sardet’s gift: the first and easiest part was crafting a small wooden jewelry box, a simple piece of carpentry. _If I had more time, I’d think about doing some inlay, but a carved design will have to suffice._ The design itself was simple, a flower etched into the top of the box, with a border of vines. The second part would be more difficult, he knew. The next morning, he went to the blacksmith early, asking to rent the use of his forge. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but it’ll likely be for the day – and I may need your help.” When it came to working with metal, he was used to repairing armor or a weapon, not creating something entirely new. 

“For the man who shut down those thugs who killed Renaud? You don’t pay a thing,” the smith, whose name was Mathieu, replied, putting down his hammer to speak with Kurt. “What are you looking to make, friend?”

“Jewelry,” Kurt said. “A bracelet, maybe.” He’d noticed they seemed popular among the courtiers of the palace.

“Ah,” Mathieu replied. “So you have a lady friend you’d like to impress? I can help with that. Do you know how large her wrist is?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt admitted, feeling like an idiot. “Smaller than yours or mine, but I couldn’t say.”

The smith laughed. “Well, the ones that seem to be in fashion look as if they’re constructed from repeating pieces. Once you figure out your design, you can forge a few extra so you can add or take away a few pieces, as you need them. Working in silver, I assume? Gold’s soft, so if you’re not used to working it, it’ll be more difficult to get it to turn out the way you’d like – not to mention the cost of materials!” 

“Do you have any gold?” Kurt didn’t think he could afford it if the smith had it, but he would have asked about the price.

“Do I look like I’ve got gold ingots lying about? I’m not a goldsmith. There’s a jeweler in the Silver District who sells golden chains and the like, but he gets his inventory from the continent.” Mathieu paused. “I’m not a silversmith, either, but I do have some silver if you need it.”

“I brought some of my own.” Kurt took out a coin-purse: they’d encountered more than a few highwaymen on the roads as well as bandits in the streets, and he always looked over the bodies after a fight. It was an old habit, reinforced by times when it had been a necessity. At thirteen, Kurt’s first posting had been a city guard in the Bronze Shield Regiment; he hadn’t been done growing, and the quartermaster had been a stingy man, unwilling to provide a fresh pair of boots or a new doublet every time the old ones started getting tight. _Thankfully, the Guard’s contract says that members of the Guard have the right to whatever they can pick off the bodies of men who attack them…not to mention the dead drunks who freeze to death in alleyways in winter or the bodies of men who’ve knifed each other in a fight._ Less scrupulous guards had sometimes been known to provoke fights with drunks whose gear was fine enough, and in one case Kurt had seen a guard hang for having claimed that he’d been attacked when he’d been the one doing the attacking, but Kurt had always held them in contempt.

 _Any man who’d trade his honor for a pair of new boots deserves whatever punishment he gets._ Kurt had suffered through the first month of winter in the Bronze Shield with a thin-soled pair of boots that had pinched and blistered his feet while doing nothing to keep out the cold; the cutthroat who’d tried to kill him while he was walking his patrol had slashed his doublet, split his lip, and nearly knifed him in the gut, but Kurt had laughed with relief when he’d pulled the boots off the man’s body and found they fit. _Thanks to Green Blood, I won’t have to worry about pulling a pair of boots off a dead bandit again, but I have been keeping an eye on their valuables._ He’d offered them to Alexandra de Sardet, but she’d told him to keep whatever he wanted to sell; her only interest was in the potions and occasional stash of alchemical ingredients. Vasco often took an interest in the weapons, hoping to find a better pistol or rapier, but none of the other companions ever bothered. _The pretty flower’s glad we’re not wasting anything, but she doesn’t want foreign clothes or coin, and picking over a dead body is beneath the Bridger and the old fox._ He’d seen Petrus shudder when he’d pulled the boots off a dead body, looking for the valuables that had been stuffed in the heel, and Aphra turned up her nose in distaste. _They're nobles, both of them, and nobles buy new gear instead of picking over the dead._

_Green Blood’s never needed to do it herself, but she's never objected._ He’d been saving the bracelets for some time, intending to sell them for the silver and use the proceeds for a new sword, but Alexandra de Sardet had replaced his rusted _zweihander_ before he’d had the chance. _I’ll be glad to make something for her in return,_ he thought as Mathieu examined the bracelets, his eyes widening as he saw how many there were. _She's given me so much that I'd like to have the chance to give back for a change._

“Some of these are very good quality. I’m surprised you don’t give one of those to your lady friend.”

“I want to make her something myself,” Kurt said. “It’ll mean more that way.” He didn’t want to give Alexandra de Sardet a bracelet he’d pulled from someone he’d turned into a corpse while protecting her – or from a bandit she’d killed herself, for that matter. _She hates killing. I don’t want her to associate this with death._ “Besides, none of those designs look like something she’d wear. She should have something more…delicate. Something refined. Suitable for a fine lady.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Mathieu. “I’ll use the silver I have, and you can give me those in exchange. I know some customers who’ll buy them, and that way, you don’t have to worry about impurities in the metals when we melt them down.”

_And they won’t have any connection to the men we’ve killed to get them._ Kurt nodded. “That’ll work.”

“Now, what do you have in mind?”

Kurt thought of the flowering vines that grew around the back of the house: thin green vines with surprisingly delicate leaves. “You know that leafy vine that grows around here, the one with the white flowers? I’d like to try to make something like that.”

“You can use a mold to cast the leaves. Same for the flowers. Making the links look like a vine will be harder, but it can be done. I’ll show you.” He nodded to the forge. “Put on a pair of gloves and an apron and we’ll get started.”

True to his word, Mathieu showed Kurt how to work the metal more finely than Kurt could have done on his own, helping him shape the metal. By the time he was done, Kurt had a bracelet that resembled a vine, carefully-hammered silver leaves interlaced with tiny links.

“You’ve got more left over than you’ll need, unless you plan on wearing that bracelet yourself,” said the smith. “Does your lady friend have pierced ears? I’ll show you how to make a pair of earrings from those.”

De Sardet did; Kurt had seen her wearing them at state dinners and balls, dangling jewels that sparkled in the light. _These won’t be as fine as all that, but I hope she’ll like them._ “Thank you,” Kurt said as they finished. Just as Kurt had thought, it had taken all day. _I hope that I haven’t been missed._

It was Aphra, of all people, who asked. “I didn’t see you all day, Kurt,” she said. “Or yesterday, for that matter. Where have you been?”

“Guard matters,” he said, hoping that would be enough.

“I thought that you said Major Sieglinde said she didn’t want you to be seen around the barracks.”

“She doesn’t,” he said. “But I still have my duties here to attend to. Making up the duty rosters, making sure the guards at the palace are properly trained, talking to Manfred about provisioning…why? Was I needed here?”

“No!” de Sardet said, surprisingly quickly, then turned red.

Kurt eyed her, not knowing what to make of her reaction. “I’d think you didn’t want me around, Green Blood!”

“Not at all,” she said. “I was in my study all day, lost in diplomatic paperwork. I’m glad you kept busy.”

After dinner, he managed to pull Vasco aside. “She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?”

Vasco grinned. “I think we’ve managed to keep it a secret. Where were you, anyway?”

“Getting her gift.” Kurt paused. “In Serene, I never got her anything. Wouldn’t have been my place…not that there’s anything a Coin Guard could get a noble that she couldn’t get for herself. But now that we’re here…” He’d wrapped the bracelet and earrings in a handkerchief, tucking it carefully in his inner pocket.

Vasco let out a low whistle. “That must have cost a small fortune.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you’d think. I traded the smith some of what we’ve taken off of dead bandits in exchange for the materials and the use of his forge for the day.”

“Wait,” Vasco said. “Kurt, you made that?”

“You couldn’t tell?” Kurt was secretly relieved; he’d been afraid the result would be somehow amateurish.

“Not at all. You’ve got skill. I knew you were good with carpentry, but this…there’s a difference between repairing some furniture and making something like that. That’s more than craftsmanship…it’s artistry.”

“What do you think?” 

“Well, those earrings aren’t exactly something I’d wear myself, but…if you’re asking if de Sardet will like them, I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about,” Vasco said as he saw the anxiety in Kurt’s eyes. “Not that I’m particularly aware of her taste in jewels. I’d think you’d know her better than I do. After all, it isn't as if she spent her days aboard the _Sea Horse_ waltzing around with her jewels.”

“Is everything else good to go?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. We’ll spring the surprise at breakfast tomorrow.” Vasco grinned as Kurt carefully folded the handkerchief, putting the jewelry back into his pocket. “Trust me, I think it’ll be worth it.”

In the morning, Kurt woke and went to put on his usual blue and silver doublet, then hesitated. _Green Blood got me that fancy doublet. Something to wear off-duty, she said._ Kurt hadn’t wanted to tell her that he was never off-duty. _When else am I going to put it on? I might as well show her that I appreciate it._ Putting back his uniform, he pulled out the noble's doublet. 

It felt strange, wearing an open jacket that went to mid-thigh instead of a quilted doublet; the deep blue fabric was softer and offered less protection than his doublet would have, and lacked the all-purpose tools of the Coin Guard’s doublet, the small utility knife, file, and set of lockpicks that came as part of a standard-issue uniform. _I was never much for lockpicking._ The Nauts provided a similar set of tools with their officer’s uniforms, and he’d seen Vasco pick locks with alacrity when the occasion called for it, but Kurt had never bothered to learn. _The Guard needs to open doors from time to time, but picking the lock never felt honorable. I’d rather kick the door down than feel like a thief._ Instead of a set of tools, this doublet had a small prayer scroll attached. Kurt had seen them before, though they were more common in Theleme than the Congregation: there was said to be magic in them to help ward against danger and aid in both mental focus and healing. _I_ _shouldn’t need it today,_ he thought, but was touched that de Sardet had thought to include the scroll with the doublet. _Something to help keep me safe._ He pulled at the cravat; it wasn’t something he was used to wearing, a noble style, but it wasn’t itchy or stiff, as he’d expected. _I should have known. Everything Green Blood’s gotten me has been fine._ He realized as he pulled on his boots that literally everything he was wearing that day had been purchased for him by de Sardet. _Smallclothes, undershirt, trousers, boots…even my tricorne is the one she got for me in Serene._ He was dressed in clothing that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a nobleman, with everything fitted, new, and perfectly comfortable.

He pulled out the bracelet and earrings, slipping them into the wooden box. _I don’t know what everyone else has gotten her, but I hope she’ll like these._ The box was too large to easily fit into a pocket, so he settled for holding it in his hands. _It won’t be a secret for long. The sailor said we’re telling her at breakfast._ He supposed they would have to; he hoped that Petrus had figured out a way to convince de Sardet to clear her schedule for the day. _I wonder if Constantin will be joining us. I know he’s been busy with his duties, but I’m sure he’d drop everything if he knew._ Kurt felt a slight pang of guilt for not telling him. _The old fox might have. Of everyone else here, he’d likely have the easiest time convincing one of those courtiers to put him on the schedule…though the pretty twig or the sailor would’ve had an easier time of it if they went to the throne room and asked for a private audience with His Highness._

He ran into Siora in the hallway. “ _Carants_ ,” she said, then smiled as she saw his clothing. “You look very handsome.”

Kurt tugged at the coat, feeling self-conscious. “I’m dressed like a noble.” It was the sort of clothing Constantin d’Orsay or Alexandra de Sardet would have worn on an ordinary day.

“The _on ol menawi_ gave me something very similar. To change if something happens to my own clothes, as it did in the swamp.”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Kurt admitted. “I thought it would be. I always thought of nobles’ clothing as being starched and stiffened, but this…it’s not bad at all.”

“I do not think they would wear it if it was.”

Kurt laughed. “Speak for yourself. You’ve seen that getup Lady de Morange wears. I can't imagine that's comfortable.”

“Yes, and I do not understand. It is not good for running or fighting. Alexandra says it is worn at dances, but I do not think you could dance in it.”

“Depends on the dance,” Kurt said. “I don’t know what your people’s dances look like, but you’d probably think that a proper Congregation dance doesn’t look like much at all. But Green Blood’s fond of it.”

“Can you dance?”

“A little,” Kurt admitted. “Green Blood taught me. But don’t tell the sailor,” he said as they went downstairs. “I don’t think he’d ever let me hear the end of it.”

“Hear the end of what?” Aphra asked, looking up at them as they descended the last few steps, then raised her eyebrows as she saw Kurt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything save that uniform. Well, except when you weren’t wearing anything.”

“Careful,” Kurt told her. “You’ll give the servants the wrong idea if they overhear…especially if you mention the sailor and the bishop being similarly undressed in the same breath.” 

They entered the dining room to find Petrus, Vasco, and de Sardet already waiting. De Sardet brightened as she saw them. “Good morning!” She looked with surprise at Kurt. “You’re wearing your doublet! Does it fit?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do you like it?” He could hear the anxiousness in her voice, and hastened to reassure her.

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever had. Fits perfectly.”

“You look like a nobleman,” Petrus observed. For once, he’d abandoned his own armor, and was wearing the sort of clothing Kurt had seen on so many priests in Theleme: a long gray coat, a high, starched white collar, and the split black cloth that the priests wore in place of a cravat. In place of his helmet, he had a wide-brimmed gray hat.

“I doubt that!” Kurt eyed him. “Where’s your armor? I almost thought Green Blood had invited a stranger to breakfast.”

“Considering our plans for the day, I thought it best to leave it behind,” Petrus replied. “After all, we are not spending the day at the palace or in town.”

Kurt frowned at him, wondering if he’d ruin the surprise, and was extremely confused when he saw Alexandra de Sardet doing the same thing. _She must be wondering what he’s planning._

“Kurt, Siora, Aphra, sit down,” de Sardet said. The dining room table seated eight, three on a side with one at each end. When it had been just Kurt, de Sardet, and Vasco, she had seated herself at the end of the table, with Kurt and Vasco on either side; now, she tended to sit in the middle on one side, with the others seating themselves around her. Today, de Sardet was sitting in her usual seat, with Petrus and Vasco on each side of her. That left the three seats on the opposite side of the table empty, though the place settings were already laid out, and the chef had brought in the trays of food to be passed around.

Kurt nudged Siora. “Either you or I should sit across from the old fox. I don’t think Green Blood wants to hear them arguing when we’re trying to celebrate.”

“I will sit near him, but only if you sit in the middle,” she replied.

Kurt nodded, realizing why: being seated across from Petrus and next to Aphra meant that Siora would spend her breakfast near the two members of their company she disliked most. _Well, the old fox won’t be spending the morning trying to convert her. All his attention should be on Green Blood._

He slid into the seat across from de Sardet, who looked with confusion at the box in his hands. “What’s that?”

“A surprise,” he said, wondering if he’d made a mistake; none of the other companions had anything. _I thought we said we’d be giving her gifts first thing._ He wondered if they’d each gotten her something smaller. _A book would fit inside Vasco’s coat pocket. So would a vial of perfume, for that matter…or even some ingredients for her potions, depending on what they are._ Kurt wondered what the others had purchased. _I should have asked the pretty twig if she needed coin. The sailor took care of it, I’m sure, but he shouldn’t have to put himself too far out of pocket._ Kurt wasn’t sure if the Nauts were still paying Vasco’s wages while he was ashore, or how much a ship’s captain made when he didn’t have a ship. _Green Blood won’t be happy if she thinks he’s impoverished himself to buy her a gift, though she ought to know that he's made enough on side bets in the arena that he shouldn't be hurting._

“A surprise? Why?”

Kurt glanced around, wondering if he should speak, and saw Siora smiling. “Go ahead,” she told him.

“For your birthday,” Kurt said. “You never did get a proper celebration, Green Blood. We thought that you should have a day to enjoy yourself. After breakfast, we’ll take a walk out into the woods, past the windmill and that little dock; I know you said you’d like to see more of it. We’ll pack a lunch for out there, and be back to the house by supper. No diplomatic meetings or papers, no duties to attend to, just a pleasant time outdoors…unless there’s something you’d rather do, in which case we’ll be glad to oblige.”

“And the box?”

“A birthday gift,” he said. “My gift to you; I don’t know what the others have done.”

“You got me a gift?”

“Of course. Did you think I’d show up empty-handed?” Moving the various breakfast platters out of the way, he slid it across the table.

De Sardet picked up the box. “It’s lovely,” she said, looking at the carvings. “You made this, didn’t you?”

Kurt nodded. “Open it.”

She did, and her eyes widened in surprise. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Kurt made it himself,” Vasco volunteered. “I told him he should have been a silversmith.”

"You did?" 

He nodded. "I hope you like it," he said uncertainly. 

"It's more beautiful than anything I own. The jeweler in the Silver District doesn't have anything that comes close to being half as lovely." Kurt would have thought she was flattering him, but she was admiring the bracelet with such genuine delight that he couldn't doubt her.

“Does it fit?” he asked, worried. “If it doesn’t, I can fix it…take some of those leaves off, or add some on.”

De Sardet fumbled with the clasp. “I’ve never been any good at this,” she said, then extended her arm across the table. “Could you?”

Kurt reached forward, doing the clasp. “It fits perfectly,” de Sardet said, smiling widely.

“It is beautiful, _carants_ ,” said Siora. “Far more beautiful than anything I have seen a _renaigse_ make.” She admired the bracelet, and Kurt thought that her appreciation seemed genuine; it made him feel better, more certain that he’d made something truly fine.

“Is that a moonflower vine?” Aphra asked.

“Is that what you call those? I got the idea from the vines growing on the back of the house. I heard you say you liked them, Green Blood.”

“I did say that,” de Sardet said. “When we first moved in. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Those are moonflower vines,” said Aphra. “Named because the flowers are luminescent beneath moonlight. I wonder if the colonists brought them, or if they are also native to Teer Fradee. There are some commonalities in the plant species of the island, but I haven’t seen those vines elsewhere.” She leaned over, looking at the bracelet. “I’ve never been fond of jewelry myself, but I must admit, that does look to be an accurate representation.”

“Because I’m sure that was what Kurt was going for,” Vasco said. “An accurate representation.”

“Well, he clearly wanted them to be recognizable,” Aphra replied.

“And there are earrings!” De Sardet’s exclamation kept them from arguing, and Kurt had to smile when he saw how pleased she was: instead of showing them to anyone else, she put them on immediately.

“Now you know where I’ve been the last few days,” he said. “Between making that box, the bracelet, and those earrings, I’ve spent all my time at a workbench or the forge. I’m just glad you like them.”

“I love them,” she replied. To his surprise, he saw a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “It’s too much.”

“Don’t worry about the cost, Green Blood. Between what we’ve pulled off of bandits in the wilderness and what I’ve made betting on us in the arena, I’m richer than I’ve ever been – and that’s before considering all the gifts you’ve showered on me since we arrived!”

“De Sardet’s showered us all with gifts,” said Vasco as he lifted the tray on one of the platters, serving himself. “By the time I get back to a ship, I don’t think I’ll be able to fit everything in my cabin.”

“My child, you have been the soul of generosity,” Petrus added, following suit. “If Kurt wishes to reciprocate, you have nothing to reproach yourself with.”

“I thought I was being so clever. I didn’t think about this,” said de Sardet.

“Clever?” Kurt was lost.

De Sardet looked around at the rest of the table, but when none of them said anything, she spoke. “Kurt, we aren’t celebrating my birthday today. We’re celebrating yours.”

Of all the things she might have said, Kurt hadn’t been expecting that. "Mine?" 

“It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Vasco asked.

“Yes, but – how did you know?”

“Thirty-five is a little young to be losing your memory,” Vasco said dryly. “You told me.”

“More specifically, you told him that it was in a week,” said Petrus. “I had to bribe Quartermaster Manfred with a bottle of fine wine to get him to allow me to see your personnel file. That gave me the exact date.”

“Manfred, accepting a bribe?”

“I told him that I wished to see the file for the man who was in charge of protecting me,” Petrus replied. “It was a reasonable request, and he kept a sharp eye on me to ensure that I didn’t attempt to alter the records or look at anyone else’s…although I suspect that another bottle of wine might have procured me a glimpse of anyone else’s file, even Major Sieglinde’s.” He raised his glass in the imitation of a toast. “You can have nothing to be ashamed of, my son. Your record is remarkable. The number of decorations you have received is not insubstantial…including several for having prevented Lady de Sardet and her cousin from being assassinated. There was a commendation from the Prince d’Orsay himself after one such incident, and a letter of thanks personally written by the Princess de Sardet...along with a note that you received a medal from the Coin Guard for having been injured in the line of duty.”

"Not badly," said Kurt. He held up his forearm. "You saw the scar on my arm in the swamp. That's how I got it. It wasn't the first time someone tried to kill them, or the last, but it was the closest any of them came to succeeding." His eyes grew hard. "I brought him down, and d'Orsay made an example of him." 

"Constantin went to the execution," said de Sardet. "Mother wouldn't let me go...not that I wanted to." She shuddered. "It was a public spectacle. Constantin showed me some of the pamphlets they published afterward, and even those descriptions were bad enough, not to mention the illustrations..." 

“He deserved it. The man was a villain,” Kurt said as Siora handed him a platter. “What sort of scum takes a contract to kill two kids?”

Petrus’s eyes were sad. “There are far too many men in the world who would. It is rarer to find one who is willing to risk his own life to protect them.”

“Kurt has always done an admirable job of protecting me,” de Sardet declared. She smiled warmly at him. “But today, you’re not on duty.” She paused. “Did Vasco convince you not to wear your uniform?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Vasco eyed Kurt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to force me into putting on the doublet she got me.”

“Why not? That Naut getup I had to wear to get into your warehouses was a hell of a lot less pleasant than this.” Kurt wiped at his mouth with a napkin, making sure not to drop any food on his finery. “If I had to pick between them, I’d wear this every day.” 

“That’s because that coat isn’t two sizes too small,” said Vasco.

“It isn’t my fault you sailors are all short.”

“We aren’t short. Aphra is short. You’re too tall.”

“Excuse me,” Aphra began, setting down her fork, but de Sardet intervened.

“Kurt’s given me a gift, but we all have gifts for him.” She looked chagrined. “I thought that we could keep our planning a secret by telling you it was a celebration for my birthday, but I didn’t think about you buying me a gift.”

“I didn’t get you anything when it was your birthday, Green Blood.”

“We were all so busy. All the bustle of coming ashore, learning Vasco was joining us, meeting Lady de Morange, Monsieur Vaillancourt, and the rest of the court…my feelings were not hurt.” She took a bite of food, chewing thoughtfully. “We did have that dinner aboard the _Sea Horse_ , just before we landed.”

“But no celebration. If we’d been at sea for a week or two longer, I’m sure your cousin would have had us have a second celebration to rival the crossing.” Vasco paused. “It wasn’t meant as an insult, either. The preparations for coming ashore are always involved.”

“I understood,” said de Sardet, sipping at her tea as she finished eating. “All of the concerns you had…and Constantin and I were both excited at the thought of going ashore. It’s no wonder that we didn’t have a celebration.”

“Still, I hope that this makes up for it.” Kurt paused, then looked to Petrus. “And…what about the cake?” A birthday cake was traditional in the Congregation, and he’d done his best to arrange a lemon cake for de Sardet, since it was her favorite.

“I believe that will be a surprise for this evening,” Petrus replied with a smile. “I don’t believe you’ll have reason to be disappointed.”

“I wasn’t talking about a cake for me. The sailor was supposed to get the lemons—”

“I did,” said Vasco. “Though it’s not going to be much of a surprise now.”

“But I made the arrangements with Robert,” de Sardet protested.

“The man reassured me he can bake two cakes as easily as one,” said Vasco. “At least, as long as you keep Aphra out of the kitchen.”

“Baking isn’t that different from alchemy,” Aphra protested. “At least, it shouldn’t be.”

“The difference is that, when baking, experimenting is a very bad idea,” said Vasco. “I’m no alchemist, and I’m definitely no baker, but I could tell you that much.”

“I had some theoretical improvements to the recipe,” Aphra protested. As she did, Kurt’s eyes met de Sardet’s, and they both began to laugh.

“I believe that’s why Robert plans to bake while we’re out,” said Petrus. “He’s already made our lunch for the day.”

“A relaxing afternoon,” said de Sardet.

“But first, your gifts,” said Siora. “The _on ol menawi_ says it is customary for you to receive things on your birthday.”

“Customary for nobles, maybe.”

“Does the Coin Guard celebrate birthdays?” Aphra asked. “Vasco says that the Nauts do not. It’s odd to me that one mercenary guild would celebrate while the other does not.”

“The Nauts aren’t a mercenary guild,” Vasco said, irritated. “We are a family. That’s why we don’t celebrate birthdays – they’re a tie to the families that gave us up, for the sea-given, and to the lives that older volunteers have left behind.”

“Where the Coin Guard are supposed to join of their own volition, at an older age, and are free to leave after their term is up,” Aphra mused. “Hence being allowed to keep a tie to their families.”

“We don’t do much in the way of celebration,” said Kurt. “If you’re on city duty, your fellows might buy you a few rounds in the tavern, and you might spend a night on leave. If you’re out in the field, there’s not much to be done, but someone might take your watch from you so you can get a good night’s sleep, or slip you a flask of something good they tucked away. The last few years, I haven’t done much of anything.” After Sieglinde and Manfred had left for New Serene, he hadn’t had any friends left in the barracks, and he’d found that there was no reason to celebrate. _Another year of life being much the same._

This year was different. _Vasco, Siora, and Green Blood are all friends to me…and even the priest and the Bridger have been kinder since that camp._ “I’ve never had gifts,” he admitted. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to know the date, let alone to celebrate it.”

Siora smiled warmly. “I hope you like your celebration, _carants_.”

As they finished breakfast, the companions began producing their gifts. Petrus went first, handing him a bottle of fine bourbon that Vasco eyed enviously. “I was not sure what sort of liquor you preferred, but you do not seem overly fond of wine, and the spirits vendor in Orsay Square assures me that this is one of the finest bottles he has.”

“I’m not particular,” Kurt reassured him. “I’ll enjoy it.”

Aphra presented him with a fine set of books: a copy of the Dumont novels he enjoyed, but finely bound with leather covers and pages of good-quality parchment, and one he’d never seen before. “Not one of the bishop’s romance novels, I hope,” he joked.

“Not at all,” Aphra replied. “The bookseller told me that it was likely to be something you’d enjoy.”

“ _The Gladiator-General_ ,” Kurt read. 

“I’ve heard of it,” de Sardet offered. “It’s about an officer in the Gacan Empire. He’s betrayed by a colleague and ends up condemned to death in the arena, and seeks to avenge himself while restoring his honor.”

Kurt opened the front page to find an inscription there. He had to laugh when he read it. “‘I’m sorry for calling you illiterate. Aphra.’”

“I think you missed an opportunity there,” said Vasco. “It should read, ‘If you can read this, I’m sorry for calling you illiterate. If not, this book has many fine pictures.’”

“Are there pictures?” Siora asked, which only made the entire table break up into laughter.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it,” said Aphra, then looked archly at Vasco. “Despite the lack of illustrations.” Seeing Petrus’s mirth, she added, “Or love scenes.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to beat that,” said Vasco. “I’ve gotten you a coat that fits, in case de Sardet feels the need to wander into our warehouses again…and I did make a contribution to de Sardet’s gift.”

“As did I,” said Siora. “I think you will have to see it, _carants_.”

“Is everyone done with breakfast?” They were, and de Sardet rose from the table with a smile. “Then follow me.”

They moved through the hallway and into the back of the house. There had been a second parlor there, meant as a gathering-room for large parties, but de Sardet hadn’t used it since their arrival. _It isn’t as if she’s had enormous delegations of Bridgers or priests to entertain, and Constantin would probably insist on throwing the parties at the palace anyway._

Now, he would have to: de Sardet had converted the room from a parlor to a combination of alchemist’s laboratory and craftsman’s workspace. There was an anvil, a wall with a wide array of tools, and a carpenter’s workbench, along with storage bins, a chest, and a table where he could lay out a project.

“I’m considering putting a forge in the backyard,” said de Sardet. “It wouldn’t be large, but it would be hot enough to allow you to work metal.”

“There’s a whetstone there for your tools, and plenty of equipment,” said Vasco. “I went down to the docks and talked to some ship’s carpenters about what tools you’d need to have a proper workshop. That smith helped with some ideas for hammers and the like.”

“There’s a blacksmith’s apron and a pair of gloves in the chest,” said de Sardet.

“And I have bought all the materials Cosnach could provide,” said Siora. “He is from Vignamri, a village known for working whale’s bones and other rare materials. They make many fine crafts, and trade with many villages to get materials for their work. You have whale bones, mother of pearl, the finest woods, gold and silver, even some jewels from the earth. I hope you will make many beautiful things.”

“And I got you a new suit of armor to modify,” said de Sardet. “Your Coin Guard doublet was adequate for protection in Serene, but it did not seem like enough when we encountered that guardian in the swamp.” She nodded to the chest. “It’s in there.”

Kurt was surprised to pull out a set of armor that was suitable for a nobleman of the Congregation: a silver and gold breastplate with a design that reminded him of the V-shape of the Congregation’s emblem, gold-striped blue cloth beneath the breastplate, and a white cravat. Instead of the scroll, there was a native-looking creation of bone and feathers.

“It is a talisman to give you health,” Siora explained. “There is magic in it.”

“It should fit,” de Sardet said anxiously. “It’s heavier than your usual armor, but it should protect you better.”

“It’s not that heavy,” he said, lifting it. “You’d have trouble wearing it in a fight, Green Blood, but I’ve trained with heavier gear than that.” If he stopped to think about it, he knew he would be astonished at the cost. _This is something Constantin could wear into battle. It’s fit for a prince._ Any armor he’d ever worn in his life had come to him nicked and dented, pulled off the body of another dead Coin Guard and thrown back into the armory; he’d never had anything of his own that had been entirely new.

“I thought it would give you something to work on, if you wanted a project,” said de Sardet. “There are no modifications – no spaulders or vambraces, nothing aside from Siora’s charm.”

Kurt ran his hands over the armor. “Thank you, Green Blood. It’s the finest armor I’ve ever owned in my life.” He looked to the others. “I look forward to working on it…and to all the projects I’ll do here. The materials, the tools…” _A place of my own, not just a bunk and a trunk in a barracks somewhere. The free time to improve my armor, or craft a new hilt for my sword, or make another bracelet for Green Blood._ He felt a lump in his throat, and swallowed hard. “It’s more than I could have asked for…more than I could have imagined. Thank you.”

“You’ll have to share the room with me,” said de Sardet. “And sometimes maybe Siora or Aphra, if they want to join me.” She gestured to the other side of the room, and Kurt saw her worktable with its flasks and ingredients.

“I think you’ll grow tired of me sooner,” said Kurt. “Those potions may smell sometimes, but the noise from a hammer and anvil is worse than any smell, and at least I know those potions help keep us safe in a fight.”

“As if your armor does any less for the rest of us?” de Sardet asked. She held up her wrist. “As for myself, how could I complain?”


	77. A Birthday Celebration

After the exchange of gifts, they ventured outside of the city, past the old windmill where they’d once dispersed a collection of bandits, and into the woods. “Are we going for a stroll, Green Blood?” Kurt asked. “Or did you want me to help you pick some berries?” He could see some of the ingredients she used in her alchemical mixtures, though he couldn’t have said what all of them were used for.

“Neither,” de Sardet said as he heard the sound of running water. She plunged ahead, and he followed her, hoping she wouldn’t get too far ahead: Siora had reassured him that they weren’t likely to encounter any _ulg_ or _vaileg_ this close to New Serene, as the settlers had killed or driven them all away, but he was still concerned that they might encounter something more dangerous than they’d expected. _We’ve seen plenty of birds, deer, and rabbits; I hope there aren’t any_ dosantats _or_ tenlan _nearby._

“Wait up,” he called after her; Aphra was lagging behind, drawn by the sight of those bushes, and Siora was helping Vasco, who was not at adept at cutting his way through the underbrush. Kurt plunged through the woods after her, and his voice trailed off as he caught sight of a freshwater stream, coming to a halt on its bank. _I thought she decided to take us all into the countryside because that’s what her mother always did for her birthday._ The manicured gardens and carefully curated woods of Orsay Lake weren’t exactly the wilds of Teer Fradee, but this close to New Serene, the forest wasn’t precisely wilderness in any case.

Seeing de Sardet bending to strip off her boots and socks, he realized that her decision to head into the woods hadn’t been based off of her own birthdays at all. _A marvelous cold little stream with round pebbles,_ he thought. _A carefree day._ This was larger than the stream of his memories: far too small to be a river, but deep enough for swimming as well as wading. _But the water looks just as clear, and just as inviting._

“I hoped you might like this,” de Sardet said to him.

“I do,” he managed as the others caught up. “It’s perfect.”

“What are you doing, my child?” Petrus asked, but Siora was already following suit, splashing into the water with obvious joy.

“Wading,” de Sardet replied; her gaze darted to Kurt’s, a smile flickering on her lips.

He pulled off his boots and joined them. “If I’d known you were planning on this, I’d have worn something a little less fine,” he said.

“So take it off,” Siora suggested. 

“She has a point,” said Vasco. “At least, the coat.” He’d taken off his own captain’s coat, draping it over a rock.

Petrus cleared his throat. “Are you sure that’s proper?”

“We’re in the wilderness,” Aphra said. Like everyone else, she’d eschewed her usual armor, though she’d replaced her armored kaftan with an ordinary one of brown cloth rather than any sort of fancy doublet. “I don’t think anyone’s going to see, and the day is warm enough that I think it will be pleasant. If you’d like, you can avert your gaze, but I’m fairly certain you’ve already seen everyone here in a greater state of undress. I don’t think anyone is planning on stripping entirely naked.”

“Well, now that you’ve said we can’t…” Vasco said dryly.

A pile of coats soon joined Vasco’s, along with hats, boots, and socks. Siora also removed her own outer layers, revealing a cloth wrap beneath; only Petrus remained on the bank of the stream, watching. At first, they waded in tentatively, separately from one another, but then de Sardet stumbled, and Kurt lunged forward to steady her.

“I’ve got you, Green Blood. Careful there,” he said, and heard Siora’s laughter.

Turning, he saw the reason why: Vasco was entirely soaked. “You splashed him,” Siora said through her laughter.

“Splash? It was more like a tidal wave.”

“It seems to me that you should be used to getting wet,” said Aphra. “After all, on your boat—”

“Boat?”

Kurt laughed. “You’ve gotten yourself into it now.” He’d half-expected a lecture on the difference, but instead, Vasco grinned and splashed Aphra, who let out a high-pitched shriek of surprise.

“It’s cold!”

“That’s for calling my ship a boat!”

“Is there a difference?”

Vasco splashed her again as Siora laughed. “We pulled you from a swamp, and you act as if you have never been wet before.”

“That swamp water was many things, but cold was not one of them.”

“It is not so bad,” Siora protested.

“Yes, it is,” said Aphra, and to prove her point, cupped her hands and tried to throw water at Siora; her aim was bad, and she managed to hit Kurt instead.

“And you still claim to be a master marksman?” he scoffed. “I’m glad that it’s water you’re throwing and not grenades.”

“Insulting my marksmanship? I should splash you for that.” But Aphra’s tone was arch, not insulted, and Kurt responded in the same good-natured vein. 

“Is that a threat? Because I could dunk you, if it comes to that.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Very deliberately, Aphra splashed water at him, and Kurt laughed.

“Just remember, you asked for it,” he said, wading toward her.

From there, it devolved into a water fight, with five grown adults acting like children, pairing off in temporary alliances before the water fight broke up into a free-for-all amidst shrieks of laughter. After the horrors of the ghost camp, the misery of the swamp, and the sadness that had come from finding the dead merchants in the massacred caravan, it was a welcome release of tension, an afternoon of finding happiness in the simple pleasures of friendship, relaxation, and cold water on a warm day. _I couldn’t think of the last time I had a day like this,_ Kurt thought. The crossing celebration aboard ship came to mind, an afternoon given over to similar silly pleasures, adults playing children’s games. _Aboard the_ Sea Horse _, it was a tug-of-war. Here’s, it’s a water fight._ Only Petrus stayed out of it, sitting resolutely on the bank and averting his gaze, as the rest of them soon became soaked.

“Come on, Father,” Kurt called out, in good spirits. “The water’s fine!”

“You won’t drown,” Vasco added.

“I promise not to splash you,” de Sardet added. 

“There’s nothing improper here,” said Aphra. “I promise you, everyone is properly covered.”

“You aren’t wearing armor for once, so there’s no chance you’ll sink,” Vasco added. Petrus was wearing the priest’s garb that he wore on the rare occasions that he eschewed his armor, the gray coat and trousers paired with a white undershirt and black V-shaped tie. “The water’s shallow enough that you don’t have to know how to swim, if that’s a concern.”

“I am not a strong swimmer, but I have no fear of drowning in a creek,” Petrus replied.

“I think you’re just afraid it’s not dignified,” Kurt said. “The fine bishop getting soaked in a creek.”

“Or maybe he’s afraid to remove his hat,” said Aphra. “It’s uncommon enough to see him without his helmet.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you bald?”

Kurt had to laugh as Petrus sputtered, “Excuse me?”

“You always have something covering the top of your head, whether it’s a hat or that helmet. Even indoors, even on evenings when we’re relaxing, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you without it. I thought that perhaps you’re going bald and you’re embarrassed about it. It seems common enough among men of a certain age.”

De Sardet stifled a laugh, and Kurt saw Vasco grin. “You can leave the hat on if you’d like to join us, Father,” said Vasco. “No one will judge.”

“I’m not balding!”

Petrus’s indignation was so immediate that de Sardet was unable to stifle her laughter; she let out a giggle, which she tried unconvincingly to turn into a cough. “I’m sorry,” she said, reddening. “I just swallowed the wrong way.”

“I can assure you, I have a full head of hair. I have nothing to be ashamed of…not that it would be a matter for shame if I were!”

“Then you should join us,” said de Sardet. “The water is refreshing, and we have been enjoying ourselves. If you’d prefer to stay in the shallows, you can do so, but I hate to see you left out.” 

“I don’t feel that way, I assure you,” said Petrus. “If you’d prefer, you can think of me as guarding the picnic basket.”

“From what? Rabbits?” Kurt scoffed.

“It’s all right,” said Aphra. “Clearly, the bishop doesn’t wish to remove his hat.”

“And here I thought they said the eye of the Enlightened is all-seeing,” said Vasco.

“If you are balding, I’d assume your god of light can see that…and if he can, I don’t know what it matters if the rest of us can,” said Aphra.

“I’m not bald!”

“Observation is the most important tool for a scientist,” Aphra replied. 

“In other words, you’ll need to see it to believe it?” Kurt asked.

“Yes,” said Aphra. “Though I doubt Father Petrus will be willing to provide that data.”

Petrus frowned. “Seeing as you can discuss nothing else, I will satisfy your curiosity…and test the temperature of the water.” He got to his feet, moving to the rock where they’d laid out their coats; carefully, he removed his boots and socks. “This is still highly improper.”

“What is?” asked Aphra.

“A mixed company of men and women in varying states of undress. Especially since you and Lady de Sardet are women of noble birth.”

“I’ve killed men in front of Green Blood,” said Kurt. “You think it’s worse for me to take off my coat and hat in front of her than it is to stab a man through the heart?”

“That’s different,” said Petrus stiffly as he rolled up his trousers to mid-calf. “Even disrobing to this extent is unseemly, especially for someone of my stature.” 

“Yes, I’m sure the sight of your ankles is unsuitable for noble ladies,” said Vasco. “Do you think it’s going to make them unable to resist your charms? You’ll notice that Kurt and I haven’t had boots on for well over an hour and de Sardet and Aphra have both managed to refrain from throwing themselves at either of us.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Petrus said, then frowned. “Though I do think that your state of undress is unseemly, even if neither Lady Aphra nor Lady de Sardet has objected.”

“Do I not count?” Siora asked. “Because I am not noble, I am less of a lady?”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Petrus protested again.

“I’d think that Siora would be as noble as Aphra or I,” de Sardet offered. “She is, after all, the daughter of a queen.”

“Your Highness,” Vasco said dryly. “That’s how de Sardet got her into the governor’s palace. I don’t think those guards knew what to make of her.”

“The customs of the continent are very different from the customs of this island,” said Petrus. “The natives seem much more…open…to allowing men and women to intermingle while in a state of undress.”

“After the swamp, I don’t think you can object to any of this, Father,” Kurt offered. “It’s not as if we haven’t seen each other half-dressed before.”

Vasco chimed in. “You do know that there are Naut ships that transport passengers from Theleme regularly? And I assure you, we do not keep our shirts on beneath the scorching sun to appease their fine sensibilities.”

“I would think that noblewomen of Theleme would rather enjoy that,” said de Sardet lightly. “Not to mention some of the men.”

“Did you?” Aphra asked as Petrus removed his coat. 

“I do not think any of my crew were to de Sardet’s liking,” Vasco answered before de Sardet could speak. “Her cousin, on the other hand…”

“Constantin was fond of admiring certain members of the _Sea Horse_ ’s crew,” de Sardet said with a smile; Kurt knew she was too tactful to speak more openly of the arrangement between Constantin and Vasco during the voyage. “He thought that the tattoos made them look even more handsome.”

“You have tattoos beneath your clothing as well as on your face?” Aphra asked.

“You came here aboard a Naut ship. You never noticed?”

“I must admit, I paid little attention to the crew during our voyage,” Aphra admitted. “I spent most of my time in my cabin.”

“Puking your guts out into a bucket?” Kurt asked, amused. “De Courcillon was the same way.”

“Our tattoos tell our story,” said Vasco. “Our whole story. The tattoos on our face and neck speak of our career, but the ones on the rest of our body tell of our personal life…the ports we have visited, the loves we have had, any children.”

“Loves? Do you keep a tally?”

“Loves, not lovers,” Vasco answered; Petrus was removing his tie, sliding it out from around his collar. “I haven’t marked every Naut I’ve ever been with, but I did get a tattoo to remember my first lover, and some Nauts will commemorate any lengthy relationship…and sometimes the heartbreak afterward.”

Kurt saw that Siora’s face suddenly fell. “Remembering your first heartbreak, pretty twig?”

“My first love was not my _minundhanem_ , but we liked each other a lot,” Siora replied. “Her name was Sorcha, and she was also preparing to be a _doneigad_. We knew that we would not be together forever, but she was still very kind and very beautiful.” For a moment, her face lit up with happiness at the memory, but sorrow soon replaced it. “She was taken by the lions over three cycles ago. I know she must have returned to the earth, but I will always remember her.”

“I’m sorry, pretty twig.”

“What of your first love? Have you loved someone? A man, a woman…”

“I’m fond of women,” Kurt said. “As for my first love, well…there isn’t much to tell. It was pretty soppy, like most childhood flings. You know what I mean.”

“Soppy?” Aphra asked. “Somehow, I can’t imagine you staring longingly after one of your fellow soldiers, reading love poetry, writing lover’s notes…”

Vasco stiffened. _Her thrust missed the target with me, but did it hit the sailor?_ Kurt knew Vasco’s tastes ran to poetry. “I’m not surprised you can’t imagine it,” said Kurt, drawing her attention from Vasco. “Given that you didn’t think I could read or write…”

“I said I was sorry for that! You read my apology!”

“…but to answer your question, she wasn’t a member of the Coin Guard. She lived in Brystanor, and I was a city guard in the Bronze Shield Regiment.” Marta had been buxom and black-haired, a sweet-faced girl who’d been about five years his senior. She’d also been a prostitute in the Coin Brothel, but Kurt wasn’t about to mention that. _It would scandalize the old fox, and the sailor might poke fun. Enough of my comrades in the Guard mocked me for it then._ “I was fifteen and foolish, and head over heels. There was no poetry, but I did bring her flowers, and I spent more time on my rounds trying to find ways to change my patrol to see her. I was fonder of her than she was of me, and when I was transferred to the Green-Azure, that put an end to it.”

“That happens often enough with the Nauts,” Vasco said. “I was about the same age; Marco and I were midshipmen together. It was a tempestuous romance, full of passion, but it didn’t last.”

“All storms break eventually,” Aphra observed.

“I’d like to find one that never ends. Someone to call my tempest, to sail through life together, who isn’t afraid of sinking.”

“That’s sweet,” de Sardet said with a smile. “I didn’t realize you were so romantic.”

“All sailors are romantics at heart, I think. The sea makes us that way.”

Aphra wrinkled her nose, and Kurt thought with amusement of what Vasco’s idea of romance likely looked like compared to Aphra’s. _I don’t know what she’d make of someone reading her poetry. She’d probably criticize the rhymes._ He blinked as his mind supplied an image that he didn’t particularly want. _The sailor and the Bridger…it’s almost as bad as thinking of the priest._

Just as he had the thought, Aphra spoke. “What of you, Father?”

“As a priest of Theleme, I’m sworn to a life of solitude, forbidden to wed.” Petrus was folding his coat, arranging it with the others. “At ordination, we vow to devote our lives to the Enlightened.”

“That doesn’t preclude you from falling in love,” Aphra said. “You also take a vow of celibacy, but I doubt that any priests actually keep to that.”

Petrus’s expression grew distant, and for a moment, Kurt thought he saw a flicker of sorrow in his eyes deeper than the one that had appeared in Siora’s. “Once,” he said, very quietly.

“What happened?”

Petrus was silent for a very long moment. “She died,” he said finally.

That momentarily destroyed all conversation, and in desperation Aphra looked to de Sardet. “What about you? Surely you must have taken a lover who didn’t meet some tragic end.”

“Lady de Sardet is a noblewoman of the Congregation,” Petrus said severely. “I’m sure she’s never had a lover.”

“And if she has, you don’t want to hear about it?” Vasco asked.

“Certainly not.” Petrus paused. “But I’m certain that the legate has no such stories to tell. The niece of the Prince d’Orsay taking a lover would cause a great scandal, and no such scandal ever reached Theleme.”

“She could be discreet,” Aphra said. “Or your sources could be less comprehensive than you believe them to be.” 

“She’s also had Kurt by her side,” Vasco pointed out.

“He had to divide his attentions between her and Constantin…and I’m sure he’d know if she ever had a lover.”

“Falling in love and lying down with someone are two different things,” said Siora. “Even if she has not had a lover, Alexandra could still have been in love. Who was your first love, _carants_?”

“I…” De Sardet’s mouth open and closed. “It isn’t a very interesting story, I’m afraid, and I don’t know if I was in love...”

Kurt knew Aphra wouldn’t be satisfied with that. “I remember you making eyes at some dandy, not so long ago,” Kurt said to de Sardet, thinking of the handsome blonde fop who’d caught her eye. _Tall, golden-haired, square-jawed…every inch the fairy-tale prince._ He’d had a curled moustache and pointed beard that Kurt had privately thought looked ridiculous, but de Sardet had been head over heels, falling all over herself in the hopes he would notice her.

“Not so long ago? It’s been ten years,” de Sardet protested.

“That long?”

“I was fifteen.” De Sardet shook her head. “Fifteen and foolish, and far too fond of someone who didn’t return my feelings.”

“He seemed to like you well enough,” said Kurt. “At least, for a time.” He remembered a few months’ worth of dinners and dances where they’d been inseparable. _If Constantin hadn’t had his own crush on that fop, there might have been trouble._ But Constantin had seemingly been happy to live out his own vicarious romance through his cousin, encouraging her to flirt with the lord, whose name Kurt couldn’t remember. _Luc something-or-other. It was a ridiculous last name._

“I thought he did, but…” De Sardet shook her head. “I was wrong.”

The look on her face was such that Kurt regretted having raised the subject. _She didn’t make eyes at another lord again,_ he thought, and wondered if the romance had truly ended that badly. _Look at yourself. It’s been even longer since your romance with Inge._ That had been when he’d been stationed in the Green-Azure; there had been a few casual encounters during his time in the Red Sun, but he’d never gotten close to falling in love again, even with Sieglinde’s encouragement to find a woman and settle down outside the Guard. _When it comes down to it, what woman would want a man like me?_

“The Congregation typically engages in arranged marriages, does it not?” Aphra asked. “Given how important your uncle is, I’m surprised you’re not already wed, or at least engaged to be so.”

“My mother would never hear of it,” de Sardet replied. “She told me that she didn’t want me to wed until I’d found someone worthy of me…someone who loved me, and who would care for me for myself, not for my title or wealth. She did not want me to marry to secure some political alliance.”

“And your uncle did not force the point?”

“No,” said de Sardet. “My mother did not often argue with him, but when she made up her mind, she could be every inch as formidable as he is.” A smile touched her lips. “My parents’ marriage was arranged, but they loved each other deeply. Mother said she did not want me to wed until I’d found that love.”

“But you said that your mother is dying,” Aphra said, then stopped abruptly as all four of de Sardet’s other companions gave her a sharp look.

“I’m twenty-five now,” de Sardet replied. “At twenty-five, a woman of the Congregation is no longer subject to asking for permission to wed…and once my mother dies, I’ll be the head of House de Sardet and would be able to make that decision in any case.”

Kurt thought of how ill Jeanne de Sardet had been when they’d left. _She’s probably already dead…and if she isn’t, she’s likely wishing for death._ The malichor was an ugly illness, especially at its end.

“What about you?” he asked Aphra, hoping to distract de Sardet from dwelling on the subject. “You’re a noble lady of the Bridge, and you’ve asked everyone else your question without ever giving an answer. From the look of you, you’re at least Green Blood’s age, and I don’t see you with a husband. Did you scare off all your suitors?”

“I chose a path of scholarship,” Aphra replied. “In the Bridge, those who pursue an advanced degree often delay marriage, even if you are from a noble family…and my family is a fairly minor one. My position is certainly not comparable to the Prince d’Orsay’s niece.” She frowned. “My family did attempt to arrange several introductions to potential suitors, before I declared my intentions to leave Olima, but none of them were to my liking. I believe that they were intimidated by my determination.”

“You scared them off,” Kurt laughed.

“How old are you, anyway?” Vasco asked.

“Twenty-seven,” Aphra replied. “I’ll be turning twenty-eight in four months.”

“Four months?” Petrus asked. “When is your birthday?”

She told him. “We share the same birthdate,” Petrus said, clearly surprised. “Thirty years apart, but the day is the same.”

“We’ll have to have another party,” said de Sardet, smiling. “Now, are you actually going to come wading with us?”

“And are you going to take that hat off?” Aphra asked.

Deliberately, Petrus made eye contact with her, then stepped into the water, hat still firmly on his head. “What are you going to do if I don’t? It isn't as if you could pluck it from my head.” Petrus was nearly as tall as Kurt, while Aphra was the shortest of their party, easily half a foot shorter than Petrus. 

Kurt saw the glint in Aphra’s eyes and knew what she was going to do a moment before she did it; from the look on de Sardet’s face, he thought she knew too. “Aphra—” she began, but before she could say anything more, Aphra jumped as far into the air as she could and tucked her legs up against her, coming down with as much force as she could muster. The resulting wave wasn’t as large as it would have been if she’d started out of the water, and the water wasn’t deep, but it was still more than enough to knock the unprepared Petrus backwards; he was a tall man, nearly as tall as Kurt himself, and had been wading almost to his knees. He didn’t fall, but the wave did leave him unsteadied, and he lost his balance, staggering into deeper water before he caught himself.

Aphra bobbed up, her braids soaked, but laughed as she saw the absolute look of shock on Petrus’s face, water dripping off of him. “You—”

“You knew we’d been engaged in a water fight,” Aphra said innocently.

“Which I was not a part of!”

“Until now. That is what a water fight is, after all,” Aphra said. “You splash someone, they get upset and splash back.”

“You can’t argue with that logic,” Vasco laughed. “She’s got you there. And you did make the mistake of asking her what she’d do to get her answer.”

De Sardet’s look of alarm was almost comical; Kurt could see that she was watching Petrus, clearly worried that he’d respond badly. “If this is the first battle between the Bridge and Theleme on Teer Fradee, I think the Bridge won,” said Kurt.

Petrus was still silent. His face was masterfully still; his initial look of shock had given way to his usual diplomatic neutrality, but Kurt had seen enough politicians to know that he might have been concealing any level of anger or outrage.

“If you’re looking for help from your Congregation allies, I’ll remind you that the Congregation is neutral,” Kurt said. “And given how the sailors feel about the priests, I’d say you aren’t going to get help from that quarter.” He kept his tone light, but he was watching Petrus carefully. _If he tries to strangle the Bridger, I’ll stop him._

“Now we know the answer to Aphra’s question,” said Siora. “He is _not_ bald.”

She said the words so matter-of-factly that Kurt felt laughter rising in his chest. He might have kept it down, but as she spoke, his gaze met de Sardet’s, and he saw the same amusement there. De Sardet laughed first, and Kurt couldn’t help it: he followed suit. _If the priest thinks we’re laughing at him, this won’t be good,_ he thought, but he couldn’t help it.

Petrus’s neutral expression finally cracked – and to Kurt’s surprise, instead of outrage or fury, he let out a chuckle.

“You were so worried about impropriety,” said Vasco. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“A drowned fox,” said Kurt.

“If Cornelia could see me now…or any of the diplomatic staff here…” Petrus shook his head. “I would never live this down.”

“I don’t think you’ll live it down anyway,” said Vasco; Siora was still giggling.

“But we won’t tell anyone else,” de Sardet said quickly. “Even Constantin.”

The look of relief on Petrus’s face was enough to make Kurt smile. “Thank you.”

“Given all the nasty little secrets you must have, I’m surprised this matters to you so much,” said Kurt.

Petrus turned toward him, clearly taken aback. “What makes you think I have secrets?”

“You’re a politician and a bishop. If you told me you didn’t have any secrets, I’d call you a liar.”

Petrus inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of that statement. “Dignity is paramount to a person of my stature…particularly one who hopes to continue to advance. Loss of face, public embarrassment, even over something that may seem trivial to you, is no laughing matter.” He looked around, presumably searching for his lost hat. “And there are those among my enemies who would no doubt spin an innocuous afternoon in the wilderness with three young ladies into something far more sinister…particularly as one of those ladies is a noblewoman of the Bridge Alliance.”

Vasco laughed. “I don’t know which would be less likely,” he said. “You and Aphra engaging in some political conspiracy, or you and Aphra engaged in some torrid affair.”

“It sounds like one of his books,” said Siora.

“ _Seduced by a Scientist_?” de Sardet suggested with a smile. 

Kurt caught sight of Petrus’s hat, floating a few paces away from him; wading a little farther downstream, he retrieved it. “Here’s your hat, Father,” he said, wading back to Petrus. “Go put it on that rock; it’ll dry out.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Petrus as he trudged back out of the water. “I was not planning on getting it wet.”

“I’d buy you a new one,” said Aphra. “I’ve always thought those wide-brimmed hats look ridiculous.”

“You could get a hat like Kurt and Vasco,” said Siora. “A leather hat with three ends.”

“It’s called a tricorne, pretty twig,” said Kurt. “I’ve always liked them myself.” De Sardet had presented him with two others since their arrival in Serene, a brown leather one with medallions on the side and one of sleek black leather with a silver ornament, but he thought he would always be fond of the first one she’d purchased him in Serene. The swamp had left it looking a bit careworn, but he knew he’d never get rid of it.

“I will buy you one,” de Sardet said, and Vasco laughed.

“She will. Don’t let her start, Father, or she won’t stop until she’s replaced your entire wardrobe, right down to your underwear.”

“I do not think he would like that,” said Siora. “He would say it was improper.”

“As indeed it would be,” said Petrus.

Aphra emerged from the water, trying to tuck one of her braids back into place; it looked as if she’d lost a hairpin when she’d made her dive. “I think it may be time to dry out,” she admitted.

“If you are done guarding our food from rabbits and birds, man of the light, I would like to eat it,” said Siora, wading out of the water and back to the bank.

Kurt, Vasco, and de Sardet joined them. “I think I saw a clearing not far downstream,” de Sardet said. “We could eat there.”

She was right: the forest opened into a sunny clearing perhaps fifty feet downstream, and they settled down there, spreading out a blanket. The meal was simple: fresh-baked bread, some meat, an assortment of fresh fruit, a fruit tart for dessert, a few bottles of wine from the cellar of the legate’s house.

After lunch, Kurt, de Sardet, Vasco, and Siora all headed back into the water; Aphra lingered in the clearing, wanting to gather samples of a flowering plant she’d noticed during lunch, and Petrus pulled out a book, though Kurt noticed he’d waited until Aphra was gone before he did so. De Sardet saw it too, and they exchanged smiles.

“I am sorry for Aphra splashing you, Father,” de Sardet offered as they swam. “She should have offered some warning, the way she does when she throws her alchemical grenades.” Aphra had only done so twice along the road, when they’d encountered large packs of animals.

“She did not want to give warning,” said Siora. “She wanted to surprise him.”

“I’d say she succeeded,” said Vasco. “The look on his face…”

“It was almost as good as yours when Kurt soaked you,” said de Sardet.

Kurt held up his hands. “That was an accident.”

“I know. Though you might have realized that de Sardet wasn’t going to hurt herself if she did fall.”

“I don’t think you minded, sailor. Like I said, you should be used to getting wet.” Kurt looked to Vasco’s tattoos, remembering a story he’d told them. “You sailed through a hurricane, didn’t you?”

“As a simple sailor,” said Vasco. “By the time we were through, I didn’t think I’d ever know what it was to be dry again.”

By that time, it was getting to be late in the afternoon, and Vasco told the tale of sailing through the hurricane while they dried off. “The day when we sighted Al Saad was a relief, I’ll tell you that. Usually, I’m happiest when we’re on the open ocean, but it reminded me of how dangerous the sea can be. I still wouldn’t trade life as a Naut for anything, but the month we spent ashore while the ship was being repaired was the happiest I’d ever been on land…at least, until now.”

“I won’t lie – I miss the sea, and I’ll be glad whenever the admiral does let me back aboard a ship – but if I have to be scullied, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.”

“This is the closest to a home I’ve ever had,” said Kurt.

“I thought I would miss Serene, but aside from my mother…I don’t,” de Sardet admitted. “I keep thinking that I should miss my home, but my house here feels more like a home to me than the Prince’s Palace ever did.”

“It’s yours,” said Kurt. “And there’s no danger in it, the way there is in Serene. I don’t have to worry about assassins lurking in the hallways or trying to poison your sheets.”

“That sounds horrible,” said Siora. “It is no wonder you prefer Tir Fradi.” Her gaze fell on de Sardet’s birthmark. “But you do not miss your land?”

“This will sound strange, but I feel more of a connection with this land than I ever did with the Congregation. Perhaps it’s the pollution, or the fact that I spent most of my time in the city, but I feel closer to the land here than I did in Serene.”

“It is still strange,” said Siora. “Even if your parents were bonded, an _on ol menawi_ is connected to their land.”

“I’ve told you, neither of my parents were bonded, and neither am I,” said de Sardet. “I don’t know why my birthmark resembles yours so closely, but—”

“It is not a birthmark. It is a bond-mark, a sign of the ritual, and of our connection to _en on mil frichtimen_.”

Before she could say more, Aphra returned, holding several plants that were dangling by their roots. “Can I put these in the picnic basket?” she asked. “I’d like to try planting some specimens in the garden behind the house.”

“Go ahead,” said de Sardet. Kurt knew Aphra had a small garden going in the back of the house, featuring a number of plants that were useful in alchemy, some native to Teer Fradee that she wanted to study, and a handful of herbs that she used in medicines; they’d joined the herb garden that the cook kept, along with several fruit trees that the previous legate had planted.

“Are you dry enough to be presentable, Father?” de Sardet asked. “The rest of us are still rather damp, I’m afraid.” De Sardet’s hair was wet and hanging loose around her shoulders, as was Vasco’s; meanwhile, Kurt was hesitant to put his fine coat on, and had it folded over one arm. “If you’d prefer not to be seen with us, you could meet us at the house.”

Petrus sighed. “It’s fine, my child.”

They walked back to the house, where dinner was waiting. De Sardet insisted he sit at the head of the table, in the spot she had occupied when they had first arrived; the others arranged themselves around him, with de Sardet, Siora, and Petrus on one side of him, and Vasco and Aphra on the other. It was a fine meal; Kurt didn’t think he’d ever eaten so well: steak that would have been suitable for the Prince d’Orsay’s table in Serene, potatoes with beef gravy and pepper, a mixture of native greens stewed in a buttery sauce he’d never had. All of it was delicious, accompanied by a fine red wine that he had to admit was good, even if he wasn’t much of a wine drinker.

“Petrus chose the wines,” said de Sardet.

“Wines?” he asked as they finished the main course.

“Of course,” said Petrus. “Red wine is suitable for pairing with red meat, but for dessert, there must be a dessert wine. Siora said you had mentioned a fondness for cherry wine.”

“There’s nothing sweeter,” he said as Robert brought the dessert in. “Does that mean—”

“You will have plum cake and cherry wine,” said Siora as the cook set the tray down on the table in front of him.

“I’ve heard you speak of plum pie before, but in the Congregation, a birthday cake is traditional,” said de Sardet. “I hope that’s all right.”

“I’ve never had a birthday cake for myself before,” he said. “Cake, pie…it’s been a long time since I marked my birthday with any celebration, and even then, I never had a day like this.” He looked at the lit candle in the center.

“You make a wish,” de Sardet said.

“I know, Green Blood. I’ve seen you and Constantin celebrate enough birthdays to know how it works. Blow it out with one breath, and the wish comes true.”

“As long as you don’t tell anyone,” said de Sardet. “If you do, it ruins the magic.”

“That is not how magic works,” Siora objected, then looked to Petrus for clarification. “Is this different in your land?”

“She isn’t talking about the magic of the Light, my child,” Petrus replied.

A thought occurred to Kurt, and he interrupted. "What happened to that second cake?" 

Just as he spoke, the cook came through the door with the second cake. De Sardet’s back was to the kitchen door, and she didn’t see the cake coming until Robert set it down in front of her. Seeing her eyes light up in delight made him as happy as his own cake had. “Lemon cake!" she exclaimed. 

“With lemon cream icing,” Kurt said. “Just the way you like it.”

“I thought I was being so clever,” said de Sardet, staring at the cake with its flickering candle. “I thought you’d never suspect anything if you learned we were making preparations…but I didn’t think of you buying me a gift, or getting the ingredients for a cake, or any of it. I have to say, I’ve enjoyed this day as much as I would have any party we could have had aboard the _Sea Horse_ , or even in the days immediately after we landed.”

“Happy birthday, Green Blood.”

“Happy birthday, Kurt.” De Sardet paused. “Let’s make our wish together.”

“On the count of three,” said Vasco.

Kurt looked at the cake. _I’m so happy, I don’t know what to wish for._ His first thought was that he wanted to see Torsten brought to justice, the commander made to pay for his crimes; his next thought was of Hermann, and of taking his head off with his sword. _I could wish that the Guard was everything I wanted it to be, everything it always should have been._

But he found that he didn’t want to think of the Coin Guard. _Not now, not today._ He found himself thinking of what Sieglinde had said about finding a life beyond the Guard, a reason to live that wasn’t related to a lifetime of dutiful obedience.

His eyes met de Sardet’s, and he knew what he wanted. _To have more days like this one. To be with her. To stay at her side as long as she’ll have me._

“One…two…three…”

Kurt blew the candle out, then looked up toward de Sardet, wanting to see if she’d also extinguished her flame. Their eyes met, and for a moment, they looked at each other, thin wisps of smoke trailing from both their extinguished candles.

“You did it!” Siora said. “If your magic works, you will get your wish.”

De Sardet’s eyes were still on Kurt as she said, “I hope so.”

For a moment longer, she looked at him, and he wondered if they’d wished for the same thing; then, the moment passed, and he shook his head and told himself he was being a fool. _Even so, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had,_ he thought, taking a mouthful of the cake. “It’s delicious,” he said.

“The same is true of mine.”

“There’s enough of it for each of us to try a piece of both,” said Vasco.

“This wine is very sweet! It reminds me of some of the wines my people make,” said Siora.

“I did not know your people made wine,” Petrus said. “Perhaps you could tell me about their cultivations?”

The conversation picked up again, and they sat at the table until late in the evening. As they stumbled up to bed, de Sardet took Kurt by the arm. “I hope that you enjoyed your day.”

“I’ve never had a better one.”

“I’m glad,” she said. Kurt thought she would turn and go upstairs, but she suddenly glanced back at him. “I hope it will be the first of many we celebrate together.” Her right hand went to her left wrist, playing with her bracelet. “Thank you again for this. It’s lovely.” _And so are you_. The thought came to him unbidden, and he tried as best he could to shake off any further implications of what it might mean. _You’ve had too much to drink. That’s all it is._ “You’re welcome, Green Blood. Compared to everything you gave me—”

“I spent some money at a shop,” she said. “You made this yourself. There’s no comparison.”

“A workshop to call my own isn’t nothing. I won’t have to bother Mathieu at his forge every time I want to repair some armor or rework the hilt of my sword.” Kurt spread his hands. “You’ve treated this house as if it’s my home, too.”

“I hope that it is.” De Sardet ducked her head then, as if she thought she’d said too much. “Good night, Kurt.”

“Good night, Green Blood.”


End file.
